


Stranger

by SakuraChiyo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Primarily lettuce family feels, and the Golden Deer kiddos of course, but there's also a few other implied relationships throughout, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraChiyo/pseuds/SakuraChiyo
Summary: She felt like a stranger in her own body. Having a different stranger in her body by the name of Sothis had been a shock at first, but, just as soon as she’d gotten accustomed to it, Sothis had merged with her and turned her into some kind of Byleth-Sothis hybrid. Ever since, these emotions had started roiling inside her and she could barely tell them apart before they overwhelmed her.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	1. Lost

Byleth sat on the edge of the pier at the Garreg Mach Monastery fishing pond, rod in hand, ignoring the tentative nibbles at the empty hook. The stars overhead and the occasional frigid, Ethereal Moon breeze were her only companions.

Nothing had changed since a month ago, and yet everything had changed. Garreg Mach was still teaming with people young and old, the Knights of Seiros still left on missions weekly, her hair was still the color of fresh mint, and her heart still sat silent in her chest. But now, the old people were training the young in war tactics and battlefield medicine for their next clash with the Adrestian Empire. The Knights of Seiros came back in fewer numbers than they left. Her hair, which had at first caused Annette Dominic to scream in shock, was now a beacon of hope since her miraculous return from what everyone had thought was her death. And her heart, even though it did not beat, still managed to clench and swell in sorrow, or anxiety, or joy, or embarrassment, or a hundred other new emotions she had no name for. Her head swam with it all.

When she’d come back to the monastery a few days ago, she’d found Seteth freshly returned from a search for Rhea. At first, her heart had leapt at the sight of his familiar face, and heat had risen in her cheeks for reasons she was still deciphering. Then, true to form, he’d launched into a lecture about ‘ _Where had she been these past five years?’_ and ‘ _Didn’t she know that the war had put Fódlan in a dire situation?_ ’ until she told him she’d been asleep. As stupid as it had sounded in her head, he’d accepted it as the truth immediately and moved into full report mode.

When her students from the Golden Deer, now grown and war-wearied, showed up during their failing attempt to rout the bandits in the nearby town, she had been so relieved she could have cried. Greeting them all back at Garreg Mach after they’d won had caused such a rush of emotions that she had needed to step away and walk the grounds, to Seteth’s dismay. He’d wanted to get to work immediately but she just…needed some time.

She felt like a stranger in her own body. Having a _different_ stranger in her body by the name of Sothis had been a shock at first, but, just as soon as she’d gotten accustomed to it, Sothis had _merged_ with her and turned her into some kind of Byleth-Sothis hybrid. Ever since, these emotions had started roiling inside her and she could barely tell them apart before they overwhelmed her.

Byleth furiously wiped a tear from her cheek with the heel of her hand, sniffing back more.

“Professor?”

She stiffened, whipping her head around, to see Flayn, still in her day clothes, but with a heavy shawl around her shoulders. She relaxed, “…Good evening, Flayn.”

Footsteps creaked on the old wood. “You could not sleep, Professor?”

Byleth looked back to the ripples in the water, her hair falling to hide her eyes, “…No.”

Flayn hummed contemplatively, “That is fortuitous, for it is eluding me as well.”

She felt, rather than saw, Flayn sit down next to her, dangling her short legs over the edge.

They only sat in silence for a few minutes before Flayn whispered, “Is everything alright, Professor?”

She recast her line, “Fine.”

Flayn nodded as if she heard the lie and accepted it.

“…What happened after I…fell?” Byleth asked after a moment.

Flayn looked down, “Everyone retreated however they could. Some carried companions on wyverns and pegasi and those who could not escaped through Abyss. We…we tried looking for you at first. Brother and I took his wyvern—you do remember Anan?—as far down into the ravine as we could, but once we saw how fast the river was moving down below…We followed it downstream, but could not find you anywhere. After that, we had no choice but to retreat with everyone else.”

Byleth grimaced. Even though she had woken up on the bank of a river, she knew she would have been found years ago if that had been where she slept the whole time. Somehow, the powers she’d inherited from Sothis must have hidden her goddess-knows-where for years.

Flayn cocked her head at the empty hook in the water, “Would you like me to fetch some bait for you? The fish will not be very interested if you do not tempt them.”

She shook her head, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, ever so slightly pointed at the tip since her fusion with Sothis, “I’m not trying to catch them. I used to sit with my dad while he fished, and that was always relaxing, so I…well…” she gestured helplessly at the rod.

Flayn pondered this for a moment before confessing, in barely a whisper, “My father used to fish with my mother as well. That is why I love fish so very much.” She paused before asking, “Were you truly asleep these past five years?”

“I wish I could say I knew for certain, but yes, that seems to be the best word for it.”

Pursing her lips, Flayn looked up at her, “You must feel very lost indeed, then. Before you disappeared, the war had barely begun.”

Byleth nearly dropped the rod in shock, “How…how did you guess?”

“I…” Flayn looked around conspiratorially, “…I do not think my…brother would approve of me telling you this, but…I, too, fell asleep for many years.”

“You did?”

It explained so much. She didn’t know how long Flayn was dead to the world, but all her quirks and naiveté suddenly made sense. No wonder she struggled to find common ground in socializing, if she had not only been sheltered her whole life by Seteth but also asleep for much of it. Though, that still left the mystery of her prodigious skill in white magic from the day she stepped foot in Byleth’s class. Was she just talented?

“Yes. Quite a few more than you did…but I think I might know what you are feeling. You feel as though life moved on around you when you are still living the past. The pain from last month is still fresh while the rest of the world has forgotten it even happened. Seeing the world as it is now…” Flayn wrung her hands, searching for the words, “…it is as though it is all a bad dream.”

Another tear slipped down Byleth’s cheek, but she left it. “…Does it get better?”

“I’m…still afraid of sleeping. I fear that I will fall into that slumber again and never wake. But, yes. You will learn to love the present again, and the memories that are so recent to you now will not be recent forever.”

Byleth laid down her fishing pole, pulling her jacket tighter around her, “Thank you for telling me. I…never imagined someone else knew what it felt like.”

She felt Flayn’s head rest tentatively against her arm, “We are like family, Professor. More and more, I am certain of it.”

Byleth still didn’t know how to receive that sentiment. Rhea had said that she and her dad were like family to her. There was still so much she didn’t know about them, but to Rhea and Flayn, “family” seemed to be different or at least…had a special weight to it. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

 _‘I will speak to Seteth tomorrow after the war council,’_ she decided. If there was something they were hiding that could explain these new problems she was experiencing—the coma, the sudden rush of emotions, _her hair and eyes_ —then she wanted answers, and he would be the one to have them. He told her as much when they’d spoken right before Edelgard’s betrayal in the Holy Tomb.

She moved to stand up and Flayn moved her head, “Can I walk you back to your quarters? I’m sure your brother is worried about you.”

Flayn shook her head, smiling, “No, he is aware I sometimes leave at night. He is quite understanding!”

She seriously doubted he knew, but she let it go. There were enough guards on duty 24/7 that even during a war, the monastery grounds would be one of the safest places in Fódlan for as long as they held it.

“Then good night, Flayn. And thank you.”

“Good night, Professor.”


	2. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt’s diary had revealed that Byleth never cried or laughed as a baby and he himself remembered the first few weeks and months that she had taught at the academy. Any reactions from her at the time had been a shadow of a smile or a hint of displeasure only indicated by the slightest creasing of her eyebrows. Even her understandable shock and grief after the captain’s death had paled in comparison to the pain on her face when it became clear they would have to fight, and ultimately end, Edelgard and her army.

Sitting at the first meeting of Fódlan’s representatives in the war against the Adrestian Empire, Seteth was still trying to believe his eyes. The long-lost professor, and inheritor of the progenitor god’s power, had returned to them.

It had taken him a long time to warm up to her or trust her even the slightest amount. How could he? A mercenary with a blank face had shown up on their doorstep, albeit in the company of Jeralt Eisner, and Rhea had handed her a teaching position without so much as giving him a warning. He had _always_ had a voice in faculty and staff appointments, not to mention the Knights, so what was he to think? Despite his reservations, Byleth had proven to be indispensable and more than kind to anyone she worked with. Her rescue of Flayn alone had secured his unquestionable trust and faith in her, not to mention the countless other times she had stood defiant in the line of fire to protect her students. 

Then her hair and eye color had changed. Flayn had reported to him that her ears were pointed, though not as much as theirs. Rhea herself had confessed to him that Byleth was a _vessel_ for the progenitor god. He had no idea what Rhea had done to ensure that, but she had clearly known something more…before she was taken by the Empire. 

But now Byleth was back—hair still so close to Rhea’s, her piercing eyes still green, and her face seeming as though it hadn’t changed at all since she disappeared five years ago. If the progenitor god’s blessing had given her all the longevity of a Nabatean…

Byleth was currently seated at the head of the table to his left in the cardinals’ meeting room, her eyes darting back and forth between Catherine and Claude von Riegen as they debated the next course of action. Shamir was largely ignoring them, focusing instead on the maps in front of her to determine the best locations and patrol routes for her scouts as they secured the monastery. Petra Macneary, the heir to Brigid’s rule, on Claude’s right kept trying (and failing) to intervene. The others in attendance—Alois, Ingrid Galatea, Bernadetta von Varley, and Yuri Leclerc—kept stealing glances at Byleth, waiting for her to make a move.

He crossed his arms, half-tempted to tell the young lord and the holy knight to take their disagreement to the training grounds. It had only been a few days since Seteth had returned to the monastery at Flayn’s behest, only to find the last person he had expected wandering the cathedral. He had been sure that Byleth was lost, as sure as the Nabateans centuries ago, but to know that she was still with them…it changed everything.

“You can’t tell the Knights to drop their mission to find Lady Rhea!” Catherine argued, slamming a fist down on the table. “She’s the head of the Church of Seiros and the most influential person in Fódlan!”

“Aw c’mon, we’ve got Teach for tha—oh, relax, I’m not saying it has to be _permanent_. We need to break through the Empire’s front lines before we can even _look_ for Rhea in—”

“ _Lady_ Rhea.”

“Before we can even look for _Rhea_ …” Claude continued, “…in Empire territory. If you haven’t found her in 5 years anywhere else in Fódlan, she’s gotta be there.”

Catherine whirled on Seteth, “You’re still in charge of the Knights. Don’t you agree that the search for Lady Rhea must continue?!”

Oh, so she’d finally remembered? “While I do agree that the Archbishop’s safety is a top priority…” he started slowly, and felt Byleth’s eyes on him as he spoke, “…Lady Rhea specifically instructed that if something were to happen to her, the Church was to look to Professor Eisner for guidance in all matters. If the professor feels the full force of the Knights would be best assigned to the front lines, I will order them to do so.” He nodded to Byleth, whose face suddenly froze in alarm. That was new…

Claude smirked at Catherine in triumph. He turned to the head of the table, “Well, Teach? What’s it gonna be?”

Byleth closed her eyes, pinching her nose, “I…will consider it. How does everyone else feel? Petra?”

Petra tilted her head, thinking, “Lady Rhea has much importance…but winning battles also has much importance. I think we must fight to…make Edelgard’s loss before the hunt may continue.”

Ingrid nodded, “I agree. Though, we might have more support from the people of Fódlan if we can continue searching for her, especially if we find her before the war is over. The faithful still cling to the Church of Seiros.”

Yuri waved his hand dismissively, “You know what I think. We can’t protect anyone with faith.”

Byleth weighed their words, pursing her lips. Seteth glanced around the table to find everyone, even Catherine, watching her with bated breath. He hadn’t seen anyone command that much rapt attention since…the early days of the Church perhaps, when Rhea was universally loved as Seiros, rather than revered by some and hated by others as Rhea.

Finally, she exhaled, turning to Seteth, “Please recall the Knights to Garreg Mach. We will need their aid.”

Before Catherine could object, Byleth turned to Shamir, “Shamir, please ask your scouts to continue to keep their ears to the ground. If there is any gossip, any word on where Rhea might be, report it to us. If there are any credible leads, we will investigate and follow them. She is important to the people and to those here at the monastery.”

Shamir nodded, making additional marks to the map. Seteth loosed a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. For all his disagreements with Rhea in the days preceding the attack on Garreg Mach, he was still grateful that Byleth would consider Rhea’s importance to not only the people, but also to her allies and loved ones.

Claude grinned, “Great! Now that that’s decided—”

He was cut off by the doors slamming open. Leonie Pinelli burst in, “We have a problem! A small group of Imperial troops are headed this way. They must have been stationed nearby.”

Claude cursed, his chair clattering as he stood up, “Nothing gets past that woman. How long do we have?”

“A few days. A week, at most.”

Byleth silently stood, her face showing uncharacteristic frustration, “How many?”

“A few battalions, maybe up to five. Cyril and I estimated about 1,500 soldiers.”

Seteth frowned. This was bleak news, but from their defensive position, holding Garreg Mach would be a reasonable task.

He turned to Alois and Catherine, “We will convene again later for the rest of the agenda. This comes first. Rally the Knights we have here and anyone else who is able and ready to fight. Relay the situation and that tactics and orders for the siege will be given tomorrow.”

Alois saluted and headed straight out the door, followed by Catherine. 

Byleth threw him a grateful look before turning to her former students, “Claude, Ingrid, gather the Kingdom and Alliance forces you have and give them the news. Bernie, notify the clergy so they can help with any evacuations or medical aid if necessary. Yuri, let Abyss know to be ready to receive the children and elderly as soon as possible for their safety.”

As everyone rushed out of the room, Byleth turned to Seteth, her face weary, “Do you have a minute?”

He studied her face but nodded, “Of course, but let us move this to my office.”

Byleth collected the papers in front of her and followed him out of the room. Something was off about her. He had noticed when he first saw her and brushed it off, but now he was sure of it—she was more expressive than she had been five years ago. 

She had smiled, practically _grinned_ , in what must have been real joy when she saw him in the cathedral after he’d returned. When reunited with her students, she had embraced them, laughing quietly and marveling at how much they had changed. Then today, he had seen her go from obvious exhaustion at the beginning of the meeting to adamant frustration and now she looked as though the world rested on her shoulders. 

Jeralt’s diary had revealed that Byleth never cried or laughed as a baby and he himself remembered the first few weeks and months that she had taught at the academy. Any reactions from her at the time had been a shadow of a smile or a hint of displeasure only indicated by the slightest creasing of her eyebrows. Even her understandable shock and grief after the captain’s death had paled in comparison to the pain on her face when it became clear they would have to fight, and ultimately end, Edelgard and her army. 

Byleth had worked with the Black Eagles as much as any of the professors, bringing them along on missions with her Golden Deer class from time to time and holding seminars in her spare time for anyone who wished to learn from her. Anyone would balk at the idea of fighting, and perhaps even killing, their old friends.

Two nights ago, he had spotted her late at night in the graveyard, collapsed in front of her parents’ joint grave, looking for all the world as though she’d been crying. Though he had not disturbed her, he wondered now if he should have.

He held the door to his office open for Byleth and she thanked him with a small nod.

“Shall I close the door behind us?” he asked slowly, assessing her.

“Please,” she sighed, sitting on the small green couch just inside his office door.

He sat down across from her, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Shoulders slumped, Byleth looked at him, “Thank you for your support in the meeting. I…wasn’t quite sure how to reach an agreement between them.”

“You may not be able to every time. You will have to make judgements based on your own expertise as well,” he replied.

Byleth huffed, “Expertise? I was a mercenary, not a knight. I may have fought in skirmishes here and there and directed my students on how to rout the enemy and come back alive, but war?” She rested her elbows on her knees, rubbing her forehead, “I’ve never fought in a war myself, so how can I lead them?”

Ah. So that was it.

“You will have help, Professor. I am there to direct the troops as well and you have already shown wisdom in delegating a representative from each nation to add their voices to the battle plans,” he offered. 

“…Byleth,” she said. 

“Pardon?”

“Just call me Byleth,” she clarified, looking up at him from beneath the hand on her face, “Since there are no classes, I am no professor.”

“...Very well. But do not discount your talent for leading others. Your former students would follow you anywhere, and that is not something you can simply ignore,” Seteth encouraged. 

She went silent at that one, sitting up straighter and looking somewhat mollified.

Seteth crossed his arms, but his voice was gentle when he continued, “I am not prone to flattery, so I ask that you take me at my word. You have a gift for leadership and Rhea was not misguided in giving you this task.”

He didn’t expect the blush that bloomed across her cheeks and he could feel his own heating up in response—had he gone too far?

“Th-thank you,” Byleth muttered, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. She glanced around his many bookshelves, reading their faded spines, “Are these the books you removed from the library?”

He followed her eyes to the spot on the shelf nearest to her and saw that she was referring to the various stories he’d written for his daughter over the years, “Ah, no. Those are children’s fables. Flayn enjoys reading them in her spare time.”

Byleth tentatively reached for one and raised her eyebrows at him, “May I?”

“If you would like.”

She slid the book off the shelf and carefully put it on her lap, flipping through the pages with all the reverence of someone who knew the true value of books. He couldn’t help but feel flattered himself to see a small smile start forming as she skimmed through the story. 

Many of the tomes in his office _were_ restricted from student access, especially those that told stories about the saints and other Nabateans that were too close to the truth for his liking. He’d nearly fainted, before the war, to see Claude surreptitiously showing his professor an old drawing of Seiros in her alternate form as the Immaculate One. No good would come of Claude’s meddling, and he’d promptly stashed the paper away on his shelves. 

The soft thump of the book closing brought his attention back to Byleth. Her smile lingered.

“This is wonderful. It’s a relief to see the saints depicted as people more likeable than they seem in the prayers,” her smile turned into a smirk, looking up at him “I can sympathize with Macuil’s cynicism.” 

Before Seteth could chastise her, the proxy leader of the church, for speaking negatively of the church’s teachings, she asked, “Who is the author? Ingrid has recommended many novels to me, and I read often as a mercenary, but I’ve never heard of something like this.”

Seteth coughed, “No, well, you would not have. I wrote them.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed, “I had no idea you had such a talent. Have you always been a writer?”

He could feel his face flushing from the compliment. So few knew that he wrote these stories that he seldom heard any critique of them, let alone praise. 

“I started writing when Flayn was very young. She has always enjoyed reading and so I put my stories on paper for her to enjoy any time she liked.”

Her smile returned, more genuine this time, “What a thoughtful…brother you are.”

He heard the real meaning behind her words and cherished them, but simply dipped his head and said, “I endeavor to be.”

She continued smiling at him before she remembered herself, returning to a neutral expression and sliding the book back to its place on the shelf, “Seteth, before Edelgard turned on us, you told me you’d help me find the truth about my past and who I am.”

He looked up, noting the change in her tone, “I did.”

She looked him straight in the eye, “Have you found anything over the past five years?”

He hesitated. He did know some of the truth, but only parts. He knew that Rhea had done something to her as an infant, without her consent. He did not approve of it, but it had happened and there was no reversing it. That was not what she would want to hear. And he did not want to incriminate Rhea without knowing why she did it. Regardless, Rhea should tell Byleth herself. And he would ensure that she tell her. 

“I only know what I suspect you already know. As it was posited to me, you are a ‘vessel’ for the progenitor god, but I do not know the details on how that came about. It is possible that the goddess’ power will allow the goddess to return, but you seem much like yourself, so I doubt there is any credibility to that theory.” There. That wasn’t a lie, although he omitted some of what he suspected. 

Byleth looked at her lap, “I don’t know about ‘vessel,’ but I know that I am…one with Sothis. She spoke to me and now she is part of me.” She wrung her hands, betraying her nerves, “That’s when my hair changed. And my eyes, you know. A-and I think I _feel_ more than I used to.”

Seteth leaned forward, “‘Feel’? How do you mean?”

She kept her eyes downcast, “I…never had strong emotions until then. I would feel, but it was as though…” her face glazed over, remembering, “…I was feeling through a veil. It felt remote. Now it feels like that veil has been removed and I feel _everything_.” 

Her hands moved up to hug herself, “I’m not used to it. I know years have passed for the rest of you since Solon shut me in that realm of darkness, but it was only months ago for me.”

That explained why she’d shown more emotion in the past hour than she had in the first few months that Seteth had known her. She couldn’t contain it.

He started to reach out, but just then, a rap came on the door. Byleth jumped, coming out of her reverie. 

“Seteth? I need your official permission on these documents to recall troops back to the monastery. Now, if you don’t mind.” 

Catherine’s commanding voice through the door brought Byleth to her feet, assuming her normal professional demeanor, “I’ll let you take care of that. I need to check on my students.”

As she turned towards the door, Seteth stood and found himself saying, “Wait. If you ever need a place to sit down and…read a book,” he started, and Byleth looked back at him, “My door is always open to you.”

A small smile returned to Byleth’s face, and he realized he much preferred that smile to her usual, stiff expression, as she nodded and opened the door. 

As he signed Catherine’s forms minutes later, he couldn’t help but wish she had taken another five minutes before interrupting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider: Byleth is a bookworm. One of the first scenes of her at the monastery is her reading in the library and I feel that.


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She was angry. Angry at the Empire for causing so much strife in Fodlan, angry at her former students for being in the heat of the war (though she knew they had had no choice), angry at the Knights of Seiros for accomplishing so little over the past five years in their search for Rhea. But most of all, she was angry at herself and her shit-poor luck for being out of the picture for the entire time."

The battle against General Randolph’s troops was the first time Byleth really had a chance to see Seteth in action. When they were defending Garreg Mach against the initial invasion, she had been too intent on defending her students and absorbing the enormity of the Empire’s forces to pay any attention to what he was doing.

She could see the entire battle from her vantage point atop her black pegasus, Hinda. Between the Knights of Seiros and the former Golden Deer students that had come by sheer providence, they barely had enough people to defend against a siege. So, Claude, ever the schemer, had suggested turning the battlefield into a literal inferno by lighting it on fire to trap the Empire soldiers.

The explosion had just been triggered and she could feel the heat even from thirty feet in the air. The leveled battlefield also granted her the ability to see where everyone was at any time, including her students and her current distraction, Seteth.

He was fighting not more than 50 meters from her. Even from here, she could see the blood splattered on his sabatons and his weapons. It was proof of his prowess in battle, even though it had been hard to picture him anywhere but on the monastery grounds, lecturing someone or quietly doing paperwork in his office. She had never seen him clothed in anything besides his normal vestments for his role in the church, which always made him look so stiff and formal. Now, his face was alive with righteous fury as he skewered cavalry left and right with the Spear of Assal, clad in the standard wyvern-rider armor. It betrayed the lean build that was always hidden beneath his billowing robes and it was an effort not to stare.

Byleth shook her head forcefully, reminding herself that she was _in the middle of battle_ , and went back to lashing out with the Sword of the Creator, enemies falling wherever she swiped.

Just as the field was nearly cleared of Empire soldiers, she heard a scream of pain. She whipped around behind her to find Marianne von Edmond, stumbling back and clutching her arm at her side, where blood was already blooming. An assassin came bolting out of the nearby trees, another knife at the ready. She focused, calling on Sothis’ power, and forced time back a mere three minutes before yanking her pegasus around to fly towards the healer.

“ _Marianne, get down!_ ” Byleth yelled, Hinda’s wings now tightening as they fell in a dive. The woman dropped to the ground, hands over her head, and Byleth whipped her sword down on the small grouping of trees nearest Marianne. She felt the confirming tug against flesh and pulled the sword back, the links clinking into place. She swooped down and landed next to her former student.

A glance at the trees was all she needed to confirm the assailant was decapitated, the immediate danger gone. She thrust a hand out to Marianne, now unharmed, and barked a quick, “Get on.” She hoisted Marianne behind her in a smooth pull, the woman squeaking in surprise, and took off within moments.

“Th-thank you, Professor!” Marianne called against the wind, her arms wrapped tightly around Byleth’s middle as they flew back towards the flaming field.

“Of course! Do you have the strength to heal from here?” Byleth called back, pointing out soldiers and mages towards the back of the line that were flagging behind or collapsed.

“I-I think so!” Marianne stammered, holding out a palm glowing white towards the wounded. Byleth could see them stirring as they glowed with the healing magic.

“Well done!” she praised, steering Hinda towards the back of the Empire forces, where Randolph was ushering his troops back to retreat. _‘There will be no retreat today,’_ Byleth thought coldly.

She had always resented her old nickname, the Ashen Demon, since it insinuated that she had no concern for the lives she took. She supposed that it did appear that way back when she was a mercenary due to her blank, emotionless face. Byleth vaguely wondered what moniker those same people would give her now, as she loosed a battle cry and swooped down, stabbing Randolph straight through the chest.

* * *

“Whoa, Teach, I think those dummies are officially smited.”

Byleth whirled, training axe in hand, to see Claude casually leaning against a pillar on the outside of the training ring. She huffed, lowering the axe, “You know better than to sneak up on people when they’re training. You might end up with the weapon aimed at _you_. And it’s ‘smote.’”

He smirked, “Semantics. Once a teacher always a teacher, I guess.” He walked over to the wall of wooden and blunted weapons and hefted an axe in his hands. “Wanna go a round? You seem like you need to blow off some steam.”

Byleth nodded, letting the axe rest against her leg, “You’re not wrong. Let me tie my hair back.”

She could feel Claude studying her as she pulled a length of cord from her pocket. She had dropped her armor on the floor of her room, leaving it uncleaned, and mindlessly put on the loose, cotton clothes she wore for training. She knew she would have to wipe off the blood and sweat later, and it would be more difficult to do after sitting for so long, but she just couldn’t focus on it right now.

The battle that day had driven home what she had still been trying to get a grasp on: they were at war, and they were losing. They couldn’t stay on defense forever, but where and how would they turn the tide? There was too much information from the past five years that she didn’t know and, until she did, she couldn’t reliably make battle plans or tactics like she used to.

Claude leaned forward on his axe, both hands on the bottom of the handle, one ankle resting on the other, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair up, Teach.”

Byleth finished tying the knot at the base of her neck and picked up the axe again, “Perhaps not. Are you ready?”

Claude grinned and kicked his axe right underneath its blade, sending it flying upwards before he gracefully grabbed it, “Always am.”

Byleth came swinging without another word, putting Claude on the defensive. She was angry. Angry at the Empire for causing so much strife in Fodlan, angry at her former students for being in the heat of the war (though she knew they had had no choice), angry at the Knights of Seiros for accomplishing so little over the past five years in their search for Rhea. But most of all, she was angry at herself and her shit-poor luck for being out of the picture for the entire time.

Once she had brought Hinda back to the pegasus aerie and made sure she was clean, the walk back from the Knight’s area of the monastery had been tortuous. With every horror she passed—gaunt faces, bloody soldiers consoling crying children, healers carrying someone near-dead on a stretcher—her newly-sharpened temper boiled closer and closer to the surface.

She still didn’t know how to let that anger out and had resorted to beating it out of the training dummies with an axe. Indelicate, but effective.

Claude finally managed to clip her on the side, hard enough that she knew it would bruise. She ducked, rolling under his next swing and whacked the blunt of her axe against the inside of his knee, causing him to stumble back. She got to her feet quicker than he could recover and swung her axe at his exposed neck, stopping inches from actually hurting him.

“Got you,” she sighed, and turned to walk towards the cleaning supplies to polish the weapon for the next person.

Claude clapped her on the shoulder with one hand and snatched the axe from her with the other, “I’ll take care of this. Wanna take a load off while I do?”

Byleth thought about arguing but shook her head in exasperation and sat on the ledge outside the ring. “Thanks. And thanks for not dying today.”

Claude set the axes on the ground next to her and went off to get the oil, “We’ve got you to thank for that, y’know. You took out practically a quarter of them on your own.”

“Better me risk my life than any of you.”

“Au contraire, mademoiselle. You _do_ realize every here is fighting because you came back? What do you think would happen if you went and died on us?”

Byleth crinkled her nose in distaste as Claude sat down beside her and started rubbing oil on the old blades. She stared off into space and murmured, “I haven’t done anything to be special, Claude. I never asked to be the temporary leader of the church.”

“But _is_ it temporary?” He pondered, “I know I argued that it was during that verbal spar with Catherine, but what if? If everyone likes you better, I mean. _Or_ if we never find Rhea, or she’s dead.” He shrugged, “Lots of possibilities here.”

Byleth didn’t respond.

“All I’m saying,” Claude started, “is even though you didn’t ask for it, you might have this power for good. So, what are you going to do with it? Execute people who you don’t like or who fall asleep in whatever Saint’s 3-hour mass?”

She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh about the time Linhardt had indeed fallen asleep on Saint Cethleann Day and Seteth had stared daggers at him for at least half an hour, “Seteth wasn’t going _execute_ him for that. He probably just gave him dish duty for the next week.”

Claude picked up a cleaning cloth, “My point is, Teach, that you might have a chance to reform the church. Fódlan’s messed up and always has been. Why do you think we got into this situation? But the people do have quite the love affair with their goddess. If you say the goddess decrees that the traditional Great Tree Moon food is hotcakes, then bam, everyone has hotcakes for dinner for the new year.”

It was an interesting point. Jeralt had raised her without any influence from the church (the way he’d talked about it, she had thought it was a cult) and she had been completely blind coming into her teaching position. But it was true that there were aspects of the church she disapproved of. At the very least, she had questions.

 _‘Questions about me, questions about the church, questions about the war…there’s so much I don’t know,’_ she frowned. She knew those answers weren’t in the library. The first was too personal, the second too confidential, and the third too recent. So where to look?

“Tomorrow, Claude, will you join me for tea?” she asked, turning to him.

Claude pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, pretending to swoon, “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

Byleth stood, rolling her eyes, “There are questions I need answered about the war. Questions that wouldn’t be worth asking during the war councils, since everyone else already knows. Fill me in on the details?”

Claude nodded, all seriousness back to his face, “Sure, Teach. It’s not a happy story, but I know you need to know.”

“See you after lunch then,” she waved, heading towards the exit, “Thanks for the spar. It helped.”

Claude grinned, waving back.

* * *

Byleth was almost to her quarters when she saw Seteth coming down the stairs from the sauna. She raised her eyebrows at him, “I didn’t think you were one to enjoy the sauna,” she commented, approaching him.

“And I would not have expected you to train so soon after a battle,” he replied smoothly.

“Claude needed to be knocked down a few pegs,” she smiled, and could swear his own mouth twitched.

Once Byleth was only steps away, his flushed skin visibly paled, “Your ears…”

Byleth reached up for them, confused, and noticed that they were indeed on display due to her low ponytail. She frowned, “Should I be hiding them?”

Seteth checked their surroundings, seeming slightly panicked, “Let’s speak elsewhere.”

Byleth slowly untied the cord around her hair, letting it fall loose, “Okay…My room is just over here. Will that do?”

He simply gestured for her to lead the way.

She wasn’t sure why he was so concerned. Sure, they were somewhat pointed now, like someone had pinched the curve of her ear and pulled. She had noticed the morning after her merging with Sothis when she’d been inspecting her new hair and eyes. It hadn’t disturbed her any great deal—to be honest, she’d just been glad that they weren’t as long and obvious as Sothis’ were.

Byleth shut and locked the door once they were both inside. She leaned back against it. “What’s going on, Seteth?”

Seteth stood beside her desk, rubbing his forehead. “There is much that you haven’t been told and it cannot be said here.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Is this part of the truth you promised to help me find?”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye. “No…it is unrelated to how you came to host the goddess. But now that you have become one with her…” he exhaled loudly through his nose in frustration.

Byleth shook her head, annoyed, “Then perhaps you will tell me why these,” she brushed her hair back to reveal her ear, “are such a problem?”

He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, crossing his arms. “I do not suppose you would simply take my word for it and hide them as a precaution?”

She frowned, “Seteth, you can trust me. If it’s that serious, I’ll take care of it. But I still fail to see why my _ears_ are a danger to anyone.”

A curious expression crossed his face as he looked at her, hesitating to speak. Finally, he said, “Before I answer, you must swear to me that you will keep this in confidence.”

Byleth blinked, “Of course.”

“I need you to understand. This is about safety. _Flayn’s_ safety,” he implored.

Byleth straightened, “I would never put her at risk. You have my word that I will protect her with my life.”

Seteth nodded, accepting the truth in her words, and no doubt remembering that Byleth already _had_ risked her life for Flayn’s only months after she’d arrived. He raised his hands slowly. With one, he carefully removed his circlet and set it on her desk. With the other, he pulled his hair back on one side to show…

Byleth gaped. His ear was pointed just like hers. Though…it was longer. Like a midway point between hers and Sothis’.

She took the few steps to stand in front of him. Without thinking, she reached up, tracing the edge of his ear. His circlet must have been holding half of his hair down to keep them from being visible. And if Seteth was really Flayn’s father, then she, too, must…

Seteth coughed politely and she stumbled backward, dropping her hands. His skin was flushed red again as though he had just stepped out of the sauna.

“I-I apologize, I shouldn’t have…” she stammered, a blush rising in her own cheeks. She clasped her hands behind her back as Seteth started fitting his circlet back into place.

A new thought occurred to her. She had wondered at Flayn and Rhea calling her family, and though it seemed like a loving gesture on its own, she now knew for certain it meant something more. The green hair and eyes, and now the ears…

“What am I?” she whispered.

Seteth stepped forward to rest a hand on her arm, “The question is, rather, _who_ you are. And while much of that is still a mystery, the simple truth is that you are part of a bigger whole. You are not alone.”

Byleth looked up to meet his now-soft eyes, “And I don’t suppose you can tell me more than that?”

He shook his head, dropping his arm, “Not here. When time allows it, I will take you somewhere you can hear this side of the truth. For now, suffice it to say that there is reason to maintain a certain amount of secrecy,” he finished, gesturing at his covered ear.

Byleth nodded, “I understand. I’ll find something to keep them covered.”

Seteth smiled at her and she felt some of the heat come back to her face. “Thank you. I promise you will have the answers you seek…when you do not have to turn your attention to your armor,” he quipped with a side glance at the still-dirty armor haphazardly strewn against the far wall.

She truly blushed then, “Of course you would find a way to chide me,” she shot back.

She could have sworn she heard a short chuckle from him as he undid the lock on her door.

Before he opened it, he turned back to face her, “This was the only room available at the time you joined the staff, but there are others available now more suited to your position, should you wish.”

Byleth cocked her head, “Where?”

“There are, of course, rooms in the knights’ quarters. However, as a member of the clergy,” Byleth made a face at this, but he ignored it, “it would be more suitable for you to take a larger room near the cathedral. Flayn and I would be nearby as well.”

She pondered this, “If I do, we’ll have to find a proper use for this room.”

Seteth opened the door, “With as many people taking refuge here as there are, I am sure a tenant could be found.”

Byleth smiled, “I’ll look into it. Thank you for the offer. And for…the other thing.”

He smiled back and stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled to write this because my mind is already looking forward to the juicy chapters from here. I already have the climax figured out...now we have to get there. Onward!


	4. Soirée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. What would it matter, if Flayn did misinterpret it? If she voiced her suspicions, he could simply shoot them down as a misunderstanding, and then he could stop dwelling on it. So why did the idea of that conversation leave a nagging feeling in his stomach?"

Seteth didn’t know what to make of the past month. He didn’t know where his sudden fascination with Byleth had come from and he _certainly_ didn’t know what to think about it. Perhaps it really was just a professional curiosity—she _was_ the current proxy leader of the church, even though Rhea had said she herself was the proxy. Or maybe it was that he had a vested interest in her due to her merging with Sothis resulting in the first potential Nabatean in a millennium. Regardless, she had already become a much bigger presence in his life and that of his daughter.

Byleth had indeed moved out of her room in the student dormitories and relocated to the clergy house that he and Flayn shared next to the cathedral. Flayn was thrilled to spend more time with Byleth and gave her a tour of the house the moment she arrived with her few personal belongings. He and Flayn had been occupying the second floor of the building, so Flayn directed Byleth to the first-floor bedroom at the back of the house, at which point Byleth had turned around to give him an amused look and said, “When you told me you’d be nearby, I didn’t realize you were asking me to _move in_ with you.” He couldn’t even remember what he’d sputtered out as Flayn practically dragged her down the hall.

Despite her joking, it didn’t take Byleth long to realize the benefits in living with them. She had taken to wearing simple hair clips that one of her students, Hilda Goneril, had made from pearlescent seashell to hold her hair in place over her ears. But after seeing Flayn in the kitchen one morning, attempting to cook fish for breakfast with her hair pulled back, pointed ears fully exposed, Byleth had also found she could relax in their shared space. Even though she didn’t yet understand what it meant to have this shared trait, she had taken his word for it that it should be kept secret and Seteth was deeply appreciative for it.

Byleth had also been spending a few minutes here and there to take a break in his office, as he had offered. At first, she had simply sat down on the sofa by the door, closing her eyes to take a quick breath away from their well-meaning allies peppering her with questions. Then, as she became more and more comfortable with the idea of intruding on his space, she had started reading the fables he had written for Flayn.

It should have come as no surprise to him that she would take a particular liking to the stories concerning the Saints, but his heart still gave a nervous flutter whenever she would ask him questions about them. While it was heartening to know she had an interest in the topic, especially given her situation, he always had to be careful with how he answered. Her curiosity was a useful thing, despite the danger it could pose within the walls of the monastery.

As the weeks passed, he had been pleasantly surprised to find that they had more in common than he would have thought. A few days ago, nearly three weeks after Byleth had moved into the clergy house, Seteth had returned in the middle of the night from finishing a veritable mountain of paperwork and found Byleth in the front sitting room reading a book, legs curled under her as she sat in an armchair by the window, a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

“Tea?” She’d asked, looking up from the novel in her lap.

“Please,” He’d replied, wondering at how natural she had seemed in the space.

Seteth had followed her to the small kitchen, where she’d pulled another teacup from the cabinet and poured a generous portion from the teapot resting by the stove.

He had sniffed appreciatively at the scent. “Ginger?”

“This is the tea I drink if I have a choice. It’s good for your health.”

“We have similar tastes.” Surprised as he was, he almost missed the small smile on her face at that. As they sat down together at the small kitchen table, he had found himself genuinely enjoying a chat with her over their impromptu tea party. As it turned out, they both had a particular interest in older books: he because it reminded him of his earlier years (though he didn’t tell her that), and she because she had a hunger for knowledge about the nations of Fodlan, given that she had been kept ignorant of the continent’s affairs for most of her life. The book she had been reading was a recommendation from Ingrid Galatea, _Sword of Kyphon_ , and when Seteth offered to show her his hundreds-of-years-old copy in his office, his heart had skipped at the grin she’d beamed at him. He doubted that she had ever “beamed” before coming to the monastery.

They had been discussing other favorite books and accounts of history until Flayn had quietly padded down the stairs and peaked at them from the doorway. The suspicious look she had given him over Byleth’s shoulder…he still wondered what Flayn had made of the scene of him and Byleth enjoying a midnight soirée. He was too nervous to ask her. 

This was exactly what he was fixated on now as he sat at his desk, staring in vain at new reconnaissance plans on his desk, freshly delivered by Shamir. He shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. What would it matter, if Flayn did misinterpret it? If she voiced her suspicions, he could simply shoot them down as a misunderstanding, and then he could stop dwelling on it. So why did the idea of that conversation leave a nagging feeling in his stomach?

“—th? Did you fall asleep?”

Seteth jumped, looking up to see Byleth holding a small tray of tea and sandwiches. “I-I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Byleth nodded at the tray in her hands, “You seemed like you could use a break.” Her mouth raised slightly at the corner. “And if you’re unmotivated enough to take a nap, it’s better to rest than work fruitlessly.”

He sighed, pushing aside the papers in front of him to make space for the cup and small plate. He was grateful for the invigorating scent of spice rising with the steam. “Thank you. I admit that I hadn’t realized how late it had become.” He glanced at the small clock on his desk. Nine o’clock. He must have missed dinner. He rubbed a hand down his face as Byleth carefully dragged one of the green armchairs towards his desk and sat down.

“Flayn must be disappointed that I neglected to join her at the dining hall.”

Byleth waved her hand, taking a sip of her own tea. “Not at all. She joined Dorothea and me. She seemed delighted to hear Dorothea’s stories of the opera and the diva life she led. You know, happier times.” She paused. “Flayn is actually spending this evening with a few of her former classmates for some ‘girl time’. Ingrid and Annette, I believe.”

He frowned. His chest ached at the idea that Flayn would be perfectly happy without him there, but he stifled it. He knew this was what she wanted. And as long as she wasn’t off cavorting with her male classmates…

“Seteth, your overprotectiveness is showing.”

He blinked, realizing that his knuckles were white as he held his tea. “Ah…my apologies. I still find it difficult to have her out of my sight.”

Byleth considered this. “I understand that due to the nature of your relationship, it would be expected to a certain degree…but I have to wonder if there are other reasons for your need to watch over her.”

Seteth took a bite of one of the sandwiches she had brought to avoid answering right away. What would be safe to say in such a public space? He couldn’t tell her that Flayn was really Cethleann and one of five remaining members of their race, two of whom were completely separated from society. At least, he couldn’t tell her _yet_.

“There was a time…” he started, “…when her life hung in the balance. I often make the mistake of still thinking of her as fragile.”

Byleth seemed to ponder this before quietly confessing, “She did mention to me that she was asleep for a prolonged period of time…like I was. Actually…” she set down her cup on the tray. “That reminds me. I hadn’t considered it until recently, but it occurred to me that I look the same as I did five years ago.”

Seteth nodded slowly. “Naturally, as you are still the same person.”

She shook her head. “No, but I mean I look _exactly_ the same. Like I didn’t age at all. Some of my students grew half a foot in the years I missed, and they’ve all filled out and grown into adults. Claude grew a beard, for heaven’s sake.” She looked up at him. “Does this have to do with, you know, Her?”

Seteth pursed his lips, “It is too early to tell. The goddess may have granted you a prolonged lifespan along with her power. However,” he dropped his voice, “…as observant as you are, I doubt you think that you’re the only one who appears the same as they did before.”

Byleth smiled humorlessly, “As it so happens, I did. And I will accept that as my answer.”

He nodded, draining the remainder of his tea and pouring a second cup. While his appearance made his apparent age dubious, the same could not be said for Flayn. As a young woman, she should have looked older in more than a few ways over the last five years. If she had been a normal human, that is. No one would know that they aged considerably slower and a matter of a few years would make no visible difference. He knew Byleth could fit the pieces together well enough to understand that now was not the time and here was not the place to ask for details.

“Are your old students prepared to depart for the rendezvous with Judith von Daphnel’s troops at Ailell in a few days?”

Byleth twisted her lips to the side in a thoughtful expression. “My students originally from the Kingdom are understandably anxious, given their lack of experience with warm weather, let alone a scorching hell. We aren’t expecting to have to fight though, so I think they’ll manage.”

Seteth picked up Shamir’s plans again, scanning them. “Shamir included descriptions of Empire spies caught within our walls in this report. While I trust her to be thorough, there remains a possibility that one would escape our notice. We must be prepared for any situation.”

Byleth nodded, patting the dagger at her hip. “We will be. We wouldn’t be taking so many troops for a simple rendezvous if we thought there was no chance of an ambush.”

Her gesture drew Seteth’s attention to her waist and her scandalously revealing shorts, with only her black lace leggings futilely covering her legs.

He would be lying if he said that he’d never considered her beautiful in the past. That had been one part of his mistrust, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t condone having a woman barely older than her students seducing anyone in the classroom. And yet, he had realized long ago that her students looked up to her and trusted her with a religious-like fervor, rather than attraction. 

_‘That must be the cause of my fascination with her,’_ Seteth thought to himself, snapping his eyes back up to her face. Even so, he felt the heat in his face, betraying his obvious lie to himself. And yet…

“Will you be returning to the house soon?” he asked.

Byleth nodded. “Right after I leave here, I intend to do so.”

Seteth stood, only crumbs remaining on the plate from his small meal. “Perhaps you will join me for a trip to the sauna? I find that you may have had a point about resting.”

Her answering smile warmed him to his core. He might just be doomed.

* * *

“ _No way!_ ” Annette gasped, hands flying to her face. “Flayn, you mean… _your brother and the professor?_ ”

Flayn nodded vigorously from her perch on Ingrid’s bed. “Yes! I do not know for certain, but I felt such levity in the air when they spoke to one another.”

Annette squealed and squeezed the pillow in her arms. Like all the former students of the Officers Academy, Annette and Ingrid had decided to share a room. Once their professor had vacated her old room downstairs, it had become apparent that the ground-floor rooms had better uses than housing one person in each. So, friend had moved in with friend in the upstairs dormitories to leave the exterior rooms for extra sick bays, storage, and housing for the many refugees.

Ingrid, sitting in the chair by the desk, looked skeptical. “I’m having a hard time picturing Seteth showing that much emotion. I don’t think I’ve even seen him smile more than once.”

“I cannot have imagined it!” Flayn insisted. “Why, I have never seen Brother laugh and enjoy tea with another person in…well, many, many years!”

 _‘In truth,’_ Flayn thought to herself, _‘I have_ _only ever seen him relax with another person like that when Mother was alive.’_ While she did feel a twinge of protectiveness for her mother’s memory, she also knew that her father had spent too much of his life devoting every moment to her safety, setting aside his own happiness. When she had spied them in the kitchen that night, he had seemed so at peace, with crinkles around his eyes from smiling and those eyes were only for the professor. How could she not wish to see him so happy?

Annette leaned forward and waved her hand excitedly, encouraging Flayn to continue. “And the professor?! What about her?!”

“W-well…” Flayn faltered. “I could not see her face from where I stood but tonight…!”

“Good evening, ladies!” Dorothea cracked open the door, poking her head in, “Do I hear juicy _gossip_?”

Ingrid raised her eyebrows as Dorothea entered the room and snapped the door closed behind her. “You were eavesdropping?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, “Well I could hear Annie squealing from down the hall, so I don’t know that I’d call it ‘eavesdropping’.”

“Oh, Dorothea, thank the goddess you are here!” Flayn exclaimed. “Did you not see the professor’s face when I mentioned my brother over dinner?”

The songstress grinned ear-to-ear and plopped down beside Annette on her bed. “Oh honey, she couldn’t have been more obvious if she _tried_. Our dear professor could use some work concealing her emotions.”

Annette puffed her cheeks in exasperation, “Details! Stop teasing us with hints!”

“In due time, in due time.” Dorothea ran a hand through her hair, enjoying the game.

Ingrid looked at the clock. “Dorothea, I would _like_ to go to sleep at some point. I do have a sunrise run with Sylvain in the morning.”

“Oh fine, you’re no fun. I’ll store _that_ detail away for later,” Dorothea smirked, her grin growing as Ingrid’s face took on a crimson shade, “and tell you what I noticed. Flayn mentioned to her that Seteth was grinding away at paperwork like he does…”

“…and that he likely would not finish until quite late!” Flayn interrupted.

“Yes, yes. And you know what the professor did?”

Annette shook Dorothea’s arm impatiently, and even Ingrid leaned forward.

“She asked Flayn what kind of _sandwiches_ he would like and what kind of _tea_ he preferred.”

Flayn clasped her hands excitedly. “And the professor chose to make the sandwiches and brew his favorite tea herself! She also insisted on bringing them to him!”

“I never would have guessed…” Ingrid mumbled to herself, looking at Flayn in wonder as Annette flailed on her bed.

“Oh, but our poor Professor Byleth…” Dorothea started, “I couldn’t help but feel that she doesn’t even realized it herself yet.”

Annette looked over at her. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Well, I never got the feeling she even had _friends_ let alone _romance_ in her life.” Dorothea pressed a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “I do wonder if she understands courting at all.”

Flayn stood, a look of determination on her face. “I shall ask her! When I return tonight, I shall ask her what she feels for my brother!”

“Hold on, sweetie.” Dorothea raised a hand, a devious smile to rival Claude’s forming on her face. “There’s a time for straight questions, but leave this one to the expert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure Google thinks I’m converting to Catholicism from the amount of research I did into how a church is run and where the clergy live, etc etc. Once I found out that some catholic churches have a house where the head clergy live, I dove head-first into the promise of DOMESTICITY. 
> 
> Also, I really made a "sacrifice" and spent a lot of tea times with Seteth to get more personality info and...*fans self*


	5. Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The atmosphere tonight was electric, humming with a frenetic need to spend tonight as if it were their last. ‘And for too many, it will be,’ she thought bleakly as she walked between rows of tents and past groups of soldiers drinking and slapping each other on the back, laughing. She passed more than one tent where pairs of shadows showed that there were others who chose to spend what could be their last night on earth with someone special, or convenient enough to make them forget why they were here."

Byleth heaved a bundle of wooden poles onto her shoulder, grunting with the weight, and started trudging over to the piles of canvas ready to be erected into tents. All around her, the squadrons of soldiers that flew wyverns or pegasi were doing the same, unburdening their mounts of the supplies to house and feed an entire army.

The flight from Garreg Mach to the pre-determined camp location where the Alliance and Church of Seiros troops would rest before their assault on the Great Bridge of Myrddin only took half a day. Despite the physical proximity, however, the ground troops had left a day earlier for the long march down the winding mountain roads, which would take them from sun-up to sun-down to reach a town at the base of the Oghma Mountains that would quarter them for the night. They were spending another full-day march to the camp today. Tomorrow, they would leave the camp as one army for a final stretch to the bridge, and to battle.

It was a risk to station for the night in Count Gloucester’s territory, but they didn’t have much of a choice. The cavalry, let alone the people, could not make the trip from the town in one day and be prepared for battle upon arrival. They had to depend on Claude’s mysterious retainer, Nardel, to keep the count distracted long enough to give everyone the rest they would need before their first offensive against the Empire.

So, it fell to the first comers to prepare the site to receive tired and hungry soldiers with meals and tents ready. Byleth treated herself as no exception and welcomed the manual labor after being cooped up in the monastery. Though it _was_ rather tiring to have to constantly wave off the people rushing to take the work off her hands.

The devoutly faithful were especially tedious, as they considered her role in the church as the priority over her leadership in battle, so she “shouldn’t strain herself,” lest she leave them without a religious authority. It didn’t help that, despite her otherwise war-appropriate sleeveless tunic, pants, and knee-high boots, both Seteth _and_ Claude had agreed for once and convinced her to wear the tiara Rhea had gifted her after she merged with Sothis. She had acquiesced to the cape, too, though that was still in her satchel. These were to make her position known both on and off the battlefield, they’d said. It was impractical and painted a target on her back, but the tiara did hold her hair over her ears.

“May I offer you a hand?”

Byleth huffed, annoyed. “As I _said_ , I can handle my—” she stopped short when a green head of hair caught her eye.

Seteth raised his eyebrows. “I never suggested you couldn’t.” He stooped slightly to raise the dangerously sagging ends of the poles over his own shoulder. “But if these were to break, I doubt that we have the spares to replace them.”

“R-right…”

The difference in their height made the short walk somewhat awkward, but she couldn’t deny that it was nice to work together. He was a welcome friend and spending time with him outside of the house and away from the war council was a nice change of pace. And she had noticed that she liked how it felt when he was around. A soothing warmth in her chest that brightened her day…but also like her senses were hypersensitive to every breath of wind or crunch of his feet against the grass.

And…she really liked seeing him outside of his normal robes. She had already thought as much when she saw him in battle during the siege. He wasn’t wearing his full armor now, which she assumed was still secured in Anan’s saddle bag, but the wine-colored gambeson he wore offset his hair in the most beautiful way. Not to mention it showed off his arms spectacularly and clung to his body far more than his normal clothes.

Byleth wasn’t sure what these feelings meant, or why she had never felt anything like it before, but she was glad he was behind her so he couldn’t see the blush rising in her cheeks.

When they finally dropped the poles, she turned, an apology already showing on her face. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

He shook his head, waving off her words, “Tensions are high. You will not be the only one with a short temper. I have already lectured more than one person today myself.”

Byleth sat down on the pile of canvas nearest her and rubbed her aching knee. The brace she normally wore to compensate for the old injury was with her belongings. She still felt ashamed despite Seteth’s reassurance. He wasn’t wrong, but she hated having a temper to begin with. “Anger” used to be a muted frustration that she could hone into another weapon to throw into the next bout with bandits or sparring match in the training facilities. Now, it was turning into poisoned words and glares aimed at the people she cared for. It was a torture of another kind.

“Where’s Flayn? Didn’t she ride with you?”

Seteth’s eyes immediately searched the crowd of people feeding the wyverns, setting up a makeshift cafeteria line, and propping tents. She almost regretted asking. He looked as though he might come undone with anxiety for her safety simmering just beneath his skin, but was putting on a face to prevent people who didn’t know him well from suspecting a thing. _‘He probably thinks I haven’t noticed either,’_ she pondered.

“I asked her to assist with the cooking, where it will be safest.”

A breathy laugh escaped her. “Maybe safest for _her_. I hope she’ll be supervised. She could still use a little practice.”

Even the corner of Seteth’s mouth twitched. “She did remember to use sugar over salt in her latest dessert attempt.”

Byleth grimaced at the memory. Flayn liked to use the two of them as test subjects to employ the cooking skills she’d picked up from Dedue before the war. Her first shot at a pie, with newly in-season strawberries, had been a disaster. Even their affection for Flayn couldn’t force them to keep a straight face after the first bite.

“You’re…managing well enough, then? With Flayn going to war alongside us?”

His eyes were turbulent when they met hers and his voice had a hoarse edge to it when he said, “‘Managing well’ implies that I am managing, Byleth.”

“Ah.” He was distracting himself with the work, then, to keep from hovering over her. “We’ll keep her safe. She is our irreplaceable Dancer, so even those who do not know her well will keep harm from coming to her at all costs.”

Her magic was pre-disposed to healing, but Byleth had known there was something more waiting to be unearthed in her talents. Sure enough, Flayn had taken to the supportive magics brought out through dance like a duck to water. Her far-reaching range for healing blended perfectly with the energy she infused into the troops.

Seteth shut his eyes, drawing in a measured breath. “She learned much about how to defend herself under your tutelage, so I have you to thank for that. And for assigning Miss Goneril to protect her.”

“Hilda won’t let her get hurt. As…intentionally underachieving as she was at the academy, the real danger of the battlefield is not lost on her. Watching General Holst her whole life has taught her that.”

Seteth nodded, looking towards the east, where they knew Holst was holding down the fort in the Alliance while the majority of the country’s forces were here. After a moment of silence, he looked down at her. “We should get back to work.”

“I suppose these tents won’t erect themselves.” Byleth sighed. Truthfully, she wanted him to stay. “Did I interrupt something you were working on?”

“I had just finished overseeing the unloading of the food and drink when I noticed you struggling with your own burden. It would be prudent to avoid straining yourself.”

“Wha—?! I wasn’t _stru—_ ” She narrowed her eyes at Seteth, who had his face turned away, a fist covering his mouth. “Are you laughing at me?”

His muffled snicker turned into a full laugh as he reached out a hand to help her to her feet, “It is always refreshing to see such strong emotions on your face. Forgive my offense?”

She made a face as she took his hand, warm in her own. “If I must. I suppose Sothis would have gotten a laugh at my expense too, so I can’t fault you too much.”

Seteth smiled and pulled her up, “Do you require assistance with these tents?”

“If you promise to stop _teasing_ me for the day, I’ll allow it.” She smiled back, bending down to collect the materials for the first tent.

 _‘Maybe it’s not so bad to have normal feelings if it makes him laugh like that,_ ’ she thought wistfully. 

* * *

The noise in the camp grew tenfold when the rest of the army arrived just before nightfall. Once their horses were tied up and their armor was carefully set aside, everyone rushed for the food and, more importantly, the mead.

Byleth had never experienced true war. She had been vaguely aware as an adolescent when many families in the Empire had rebelled against the throne and a few years later when King Lambert of Faerghus had been murdered, the country of Duscur subsequently decimated and folded into the Kingdom, but she had been with her father and his mercenaries in the eastern edges of the Alliance at the time. The reality of the horrors those many leagues away were nothing more than whispers on the wind to her.

Now, she found herself in the middle of it. The energy in the air was nothing like she had expected.

Before an assignment with the mercenaries, they would all have a very clear plan and only a handful of targets at any given time. They would employ stealth, more often than not, to ensure minimal casualties in their troupe while completing their missions. The night before would often be spent planning, preparing their weapons, and then a good night’s sleep under the stars or in a seedy tavern.

The atmosphere tonight was electric, humming with a frenetic need to spend tonight as if it were their last. _‘And for too many, it will be,’_ she thought bleakly as she walked between rows of tents and past groups of soldiers drinking and slapping each other on the back, laughing. She passed more than one tent where pairs of shadows showed that there were others who chose to spend what could be their last night on earth with someone special, or convenient enough to make them forget why they were here.

“Professor! Over here!”

Byleth turned toward the voice, finding Dorothea with a group of her former students around a fire a few tents away, waving her hand to encourage her over.

As she approached, she noticed more than one mug of mead and several red cheeks. She couldn’t help but smile, “I’m glad to see you all together.”

“C’mon Professor, have a drink with us!” Sylvain held out a full tankard towards her. He had his arm slung around Ingrid’s shoulders, who looked at once irritated and embarrassed. Hilda was sitting on a crate, braiding Balthus’ hair into plaits (who was already hammered), while Dorothea and Petra were seated on a pile of blankets, no doubt to be passed out among the group once their impromptu party was over. It was still chilly on an evening in the Lone Wolf Moon.

“No, thank you, Sylvain. I have a meeting with the other leaders tonight, and I’d rather not be under the influence while discussing war tactics.”

“Boo, you said the taboo word!” Hilda looked up, pouting. “Let’s forget about tomorrow and just live in the _now_.”

Byleth sat down beside Petra on the edge of the blanket pile. “So how are you living now besides drinking?”

“It is the how to be drinking,” Petra responded, a sparkle in her eye. “We are playing games of…playing drinking games!”

A hiccup from Balthus told her enough about how he’d fared so far.

“And you’re playing too, Professor!” Dorothea demanded, reaching around Petra to thrust a half-full mug into her hand.

Byleth gave a distasteful look at the liquid inside. She’d never cared for drinking, and she cared even less for the feeling it gave her when she imbibed too much. She wanted to be in control of herself and she couldn’t be in control if alcohol had the reins.

“Very well,” she sighed. “But I’m not drinking with you if you’re all going to call me ‘Professor.’ My name is fine.”

Ingrid straightened, a small crease between her eyebrows, “Why not?”

She shuddered. “I know what kinds of questions come up in drinking games. I’m not going to divulge personal details while being reminded that I was your _teacher_.”

Dorothea clapped her hands. “That settles it! ‘Only Sothis knows’ it is!”

Byleth groaned and Sylvain retracted his arm from around Ingrid, clasping his drink in both hands and leaning forward excitedly. “ _Excellent_. I’ve always wanted to know what kind of man is Hilda’s type.”

“‘e’s right ‘ere!” Balthus slurred, sluggishly pointing his thumb at his chest, earning him a slap on the ear from his hair stylist for the night.

Petra smiled at Dorothea. “What are the rules of this game?”

“So, we take turns saying ‘only Sothis knows I’ve never…’ and then something you’ve never done. Anyone who _has_ done it has to drink!”

“So…” Petra frowned. “…we must say things like ‘I have never go to Almyra’?”

Sylvain cackled. “You could. But it’d be _way_ more fun to say something ‘Only Sothis knows I’ve never slept with more than one person at a time.’”

Balthus moaned, raising his mug to his lips, “‘m gonna lose again…”

Sylvain turned back to Petra, grinning, “You gotta take _advantage_ of what you haven’t done, Princess!”

“Ooh, oooh, I’ve got one!” Hilda exclaimed, waving a hand in the air like the energetic student she never was. “Only Sothis knows I’ve never kissed more than one person in 24 hours!”

Even Ingrid drank to that one, leaving Petra and Byleth as the only ones out.

And so it went, one scandalous, unbelievable, or naughty thing after the next. Petra managed to make even Sylvain blush clear to the tips of his ears as he drank with “Only Sothis knows I have never crushed on a teacher,” desperately avoiding Byleth’s eyes as she laughed.

When Byleth had her chance, she decided to be a little mean and needle her old students with “Only Sothis knows I’ve never cheated on a test,” causing _everyone_ to drink. Byleth, of course, knew that everyone had the temptation at some point, but she could make the claim to incriminate them since she had never _had_ a test.

As the game continued, Byleth noticed that she’d only taken a few swigs of her drink while everyone else was looking ready to keel over. She had never been a student, so school scandals were off the table for her. She had never slept with a man, woman, or _anyone_ , so she couldn’t drink to anything related and she’d only ever had one kiss. She had been very young, and had wondered what all the fuss was about, so she’d given an experimental peck on the lips to another child who had been traveling with them. It hadn’t been exciting enough for her to pursue again.

“Okay, okay, one more!” Dorothea swayed, her cheeks rosy. Balthus was already passed out, a crown of braids circling his head, and Sylvain looked ready to follow. “How ‘bout _this_ : Only Sothis knows I’ve _never_ had a crush on a member of the clergy!”

Hilda whistled, “Nothing’s sexier than those poofy sleeves and stupid hats!” drawing laughter from the entire group, but Byleth frowned.

A crush? On the clergy? She didn’t think she’d even learned the _names_ of any of the bishops or nuns at the church, let alone knew any well enough to be _interested_ in them. But…was Seteth part of the clergy? He did sometimes perform ceremonies when he wasn’t too busy. And he was the person training her to be able to lead services herself, so he clearly knew the liturgy.

But did she like him? She loved being around him but…as friends, right?

“Professor Byleth?”

She looked up. The entire group was fixed on her, watching. “What?”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading on his face. “No way. Have you actually? You didn’t even grow up in the church, right?”

Byleth blinked rapidly. “Oh, no, I…”

Dorothea propped her cheek on her palm, leaning towards her. “So it would have to be recent. _Professor Byleth_ , who on earth are you fantasizing about over there?”

“I’m not—!”

“Will you be drinking for this question, Professor?”

Petra’s soft question gave her pause, before she tipped the mug back, chugging the remainder of the mead, and set the empty mug on the ground.

She stood. “Thank you for the company, and I hope you all sleep well. See you in the morning.”

With that, she left them behind, confused. But who could she turn to without making her dearest friendship an awkward mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make it clear, I've always thought of Byleth as being graysexual to a certain degree. With a muted sense of emotion for the majority of her life, it makes sense to me that she wouldn't have pursued romance before Garreg Mach, though she'd of course be aware of it. But if she couldn't feel what a "crush" was, then that's going to make this first crush a whooole roller coaster of emotion. Stay tuned!


	6. Intimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He didn’t realize until he finished tying the knot of her bandage how unintentionally intimate it was to be taking care of her like this. He had only touched her a few times before in passing—a brief, comforting touch on her shoulder, an offer of a hand to help her stand up. This was…decidedly different. They were less than a foot apart and he could hear every breath she took. With his back to the crowd, it felt as though they were cocooned in their own private bubble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: It is important to me that you all know Ferdinand is one of my favorites. Truly.

Seteth was grateful that the battle had progressed thus far with minimal losses to their own troops. Thanks to Lysithea von Ordelia and her expert wielding of the Gloucester heroes’ relic Thyrsus, wresting control of the nearest stronghold had taken under an hour, before Empire reinforcements had even joined the fray. The late arrival of Lord Acheron had posed almost no threat from their defensive position after that. Lorenz had showed no hesitation in charging him down, ending the immediate threat and the ongoing problem to the Gloucester territory in one, well-placed blow.

Ever since Byleth and her students had accompanied him to the Rhodos Coast to defend his wife’s grave and his own sacred site, he had known she had a talent for tactics. Knowing her students had never fought on sand, she had tasked those that were adept with magic to fight from a distance as their main offense and all others were to act as defense. Outside of a couple scratches, all her students had triumphed on their end of the battlefield unscathed while she had accompanied him and Flayn to the monument.

She had shown the same propensity for the safety of their troops above all else today. Byleth had wasted no time in ordering the healers to the stronghold to treat their allies from afar, and to ensure that they would have a safe space for wounded soldiers to retreat to. Seteth wished he had thought of it, but he was in awe of her quick thinking.

But she was also making some new calls on the spot, despite what had been discussed at the war council the night before. It would concern him if her rapid changes in plan were causing issues, but it was, in fact, the opposite. Even though she had previously assigned him to keep Ladislava distracted and away from the bulk of their troops, she had come flying straight for him less than an hour ago with a new plan: she would finish Ladislava now, he should join Claude’s battalion and head for the north-western area of the bridge to keep watch for reinforcements. He had been utterly baffled, but her face had been so tense and he had seen the plea in her eyes, so he did as she asked.

Sure enough, not two minutes after he had arrived at his new position, a whole host of cavalry came bursting through the double doors. It was immediately apparent that the snipers under Claude’s command would have been completely overwhelmed if he had not been there to make quick work of the cavalry with his lance. The only question was, how had Byleth known they would come from here?

“I owe you, Seteth!” Claude yelled to him once the reinforcements were disposed of. “I’ll go to services every Sunday for the rest of the year if you get us through this mess!”

“Thank your professor! She had the foresight to send me to your aid!” He called back before yanking on the reins to steer Anan back towards the heart of the battlefield.

Just as he was about to pass the main wall of the bridge, he heard Flayn, screeching at someone to his right. He whirled his wyvern around to head for the sound of her voice and his heart nearly stopped when he saw her single-handedly facing down none other than Ferdinand von Aegir on a wooden bridge connecting sections of the fortress.

Flayn was throwing every offensive spell she knew at him, and the boy was just waiting there astride his horse, a pained look on his face, his shield deflecting each blast. He didn’t understand why until he landed his wyvern between them with a crunch that broke a few planks beneath them, pointing the Spear of Assal directly at him, barely-contained fury in his voice. “I won’t allow you to threaten my family. Your life is forfeit!”

Ferdinand’s expression morphed from anguish to one that promised violence in a heartbeat. “I don’t raise my sword at Flayn gladly, but you have been complicit in that false goddess’ reign over this continent and I cannot let you go! We know who you _really_ are, and the children of the goddess must not be allowed to live!”

He heard, rather than saw, Flayn scrambling up Anan’s side to sit behind him and he kept his eyes locked with the descendant of those humans so long ago that had received his own blood. It was the shield on Ferdinand’s left arm— _his_ shield—that had kept his daughter’s magic from finding its mark.

Once he felt Flayn’s arms tighten around him securely, he snapped the reins and the gust from the wyvern’s wings taking off, its powerful legs sending more planks to the river below, stunned Ferdinand and his horse long enough for him to sweep around behind him, shouting, “You are not worthy of my crest, then, and judgement shall be passed upon you!”

Ferdinand didn’t even have time to turn around before Seteth had run him through, spatters of blood landing on his spear’s shaft, his armor, his face.

He could feel Flayn shaking, and he kept his voice steady as he patted Anan’s neck and said, “Pick him up, friend. We’re going to move the body.”

The wyvern flapped its wings again, hovering for a moment as it wrapped its massive claws around Ferdinand’s fragile body. Seteth guided them over to the other side of the bridge, where the bodies of the men and horses he and Claude had taken down were still cooling. All the surviving soldiers had already joined the fight on the main section of the bridge.

Anan dropped Ferdinand’s body among the dead and Seteth squeezed one of Flayn’s hands tightly. “I’m sorry, Flayn. I…wish you did not have to see that side of me. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

He felt Flayn shake her head against his back as she hugged him tighter. He hated this. Hated that not only was she forced into another war so soon after she had woken from the last one, but that she had to face her own classmates in battles to the death. He was more than a little disturbed, though, that Ferdinand had very much seemed to know that they weren’t human.

He squeezed her hand again before moving to dismount. “I’ll be right back,” he said gently, looking up at her face, streaked with tears, as he climbed down Anan’s side. “I must recover the shield before someone else does.”

She nodded, swiping at her cheeks with any spare bit of clean cloth she could find on her dancer regalia.

Ferdinand was easy to spot among the dead with his flaming red hair. Slipping the shield, Ochain, off his arm was just as easy. Seteth did not hesitate to slide it onto his own left arm, a sense of peace settling inside him for just a moment. He had not intended for his shield to become an heirloom of House Aegir, but in his grief over his wife and fear of losing Flayn, it had gotten lost in the chaos immediately following the final battle on the Tailtean Plains. It was apparent now that a member of House Aegir had found it somewhere along the line and kept it, seeing it as “theirs” as much as his crest was “theirs.”

Just as he was about to mount his wyvern, cries went out from the army.

“Victory!”

“The bridge is ours!”

“Drive them back, don’t let them escape!”

He could see Claude on his wyvern swooping high and low to rally the troops in their victory, his grin apparent even from here.

Seteth hooked his right foot into the stirrup to bring himself up to Flayn’s level. “Why did you leave the stronghold?” he asked, reaching out to wipe a spot of blood from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Her lower lip trembled, and she looked back at him with desperation. “I saw Ferdinand’s troops rushing to Ladislava’s aid and…I could not stand by and watch them attempt to kill the professor. I cannot lose her as well!” 

Fear seized his heart at the thought. How had he not noticed? He had nearly let it happen again…this time with Byleth’s life on the line. He had to go. Now. He had to make sure she was safe.

But before he climbed into the saddle, he stayed perched on the stirrup and gently lifted Flayn’s chin with a finger, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “You did well, Cethleann, to protect the people important to you. I’m sorry you were forced to fight against a classmate. But I am proud of your courage.”

Another tear escaped her eye as she nodded and said, “Thank you, Father…you have taught me how to endure these hardships, and we shall come through together. I will not lose you either.”

* * *

“Alright, alright everyone. Let’s get back to business for just a sec, and then we can go get some sleep.” Claude’s voice carried over the noise of the assembled leaders and military commanders, who seemed to not have heard him despite the fact that he was standing on a table at the very front of the room. The former Golden Deer students were also in attendance, for reasons that Seteth could not fathom.

The leaders of the army and Judith’s own troops, as well as the healers and the injured, had taken up temporary residence in the living quarters of the fortress within the bridge. It was nearly as large as the main building at the monastery, with quarters to spare for the soldiers occupying the fort. While the injured were being taken care of elsewhere, the rest of them were currently in the main dining hall, which was the only room that could fit all of them at once.

He was standing at the back with Byleth on his left. For all her importance, she clearly had no interest in being the center of attention. She was more injured than him or Flayn, with cuts on her face, rips in the fabric on her thigh crusted with blood, and a nasty gash on her left forearm that she was currently trying to bandage with a strip of cloth by pulling the sloppy knot with her teeth and right hand.

“Allow me.” Seteth placed a hand on her right arm before stepping around to her other side. Claude was still struggling to regain control of the room.

Byleth released the fabric from her teeth, murmuring a thank you. He gently unwound the cloth, revealing the wound. It was a clean slice, and not too deep, but it would have to be sterilized before it became infected.

“Have you had this treated?” he asked as he started wrapping the bandage around her arm more securely.

“There are others who need the healers more. It’s just a scratch.”

“So you have not.” He sighed. Seteth wished he could heal her himself right now, but his own white magic skills were abysmal. He could wield any weapon with confidence, but the most he could do with magic was to heal small cuts and bruises and keep infection away long enough for someone more experienced to take over.

He didn’t realize until he finished tying the knot of her bandage how unintentionally intimate it was to be taking care of her like this. He had only touched her a few times before in passing—a brief, comforting touch on her shoulder, an offer of a hand to help her stand up. This was…decidedly different. They were less than a foot apart and he could hear every breath she took. With his back to the crowd, it felt as though they were cocooned in their own private bubble.

With a start, he remembered that she had also touched him once, in her old quarters at the student dormitory. When she had reached out to touch him, he should have stepped away, but he’d been so surprised that she would touch him at all that he’d frozen. And when she had traced the pointed tip of his ear…he shivered just thinking about it. She couldn’t have known how sensitive Nabatean ears were, of course, but he felt a warmth growing in his face at the memory.

His eyes flicked up from her arm to see that she was already watching him, her cheeks decidedly, well, _red_. He quickly backed away, mortified. “I-I apologize. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Byleth took the smallest step away from him and wouldn’t look him in the eye. “N-no, it’s alright. Thank you. I was having a hard time of it by myself.”

Before he could respond, he heard a “ _Psst!_ ” from behind him. Dorothea was looking their way and indicated with a jerk of the head that Claude had finally gotten his chance to speak.

Embarrassed at being caught, he turned around again with his back to the wall and focused on Claude’s speech, trying not to watch Byleth from the corner of his eye.

“—well today, all of you. It’s an honor to fight alongside such unparalleled individuals as yourselves. But we are at a crossroads. Today marked our first offensive against the Empire and we’ll be going deeper into their territory from here. I won’t sugarcoat it and say we’ll win for sure. We’re going up against not only men, but also those beasts they’ve created, like we saw this afternoon.”

He paused, letting everyone absorb this.

“I feel it is my responsibility to give you the choice to leave now if you must. You have families, friends. I understand that. If that’s what you decide, then go in peace with no hard feelings. For those who wish to stay—”

A deafening roar of support filled the room from both its occupants and the soldiers and healers listening in from the hallway.

“—which seems to be most of you…” Claude grinned, “…then I appreciate your sacrifice and we’ll see this to the bitter end together. For now, go get some rest and something to eat. If you’re wounded, get treated. No one else is dying today on my watch. Also, if the Golden Deer, Judith, and our illustrious leader could stay behind. Oh, and Seteth too.”

Claude shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the table as the crowd filed out and the rest of them moved up closer. A few of them, Byleth included, sat in the chairs still left around the hall. Flayn and Marianne were missing, since they were in the make-shift infirmary, and as much as Seteth wanted to leave to go check on her after their run-in with Ferdinand, he knew he would end up smothering her if he interrupted and cause her undue stress.

“Alright everyone, thanks again. Seriously.”

Hilda leaned over and kissed him on the cheek with a smack. “Aw, look at you, being vulnerable for once.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m _never_ vulnerable.”

“ _Anyway_ , Claude,” Judith interrupted. “What’s going on?”

He rubbed at his cheek, cleaning it. “Right. I’ve got some favors to ask. I need to head out for Derdriu in the morning to call a meeting of the Alliance lords. I’ll need to convince them to join us. Lorenz, would you return home and help prepare your father to hear us out before the meeting?”

Lorenz brushed his hair back with a hand, blood strewn in the locks. “I suppose. It would be for the benefit of the people, and it is my duty as a noble to support them however I can.”

“Leonie and Ignatz, can I ask you to head out for the Alliance and start spreading the word about the current situation? I think you both would be better-suited for the job since you don’t have the stink of nobility.”

Ignatz nodded, but Leonie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “I… _think_ that was a compliment?” She shook her head. “But sure. We’ll head back to my village first and enlist anyone who’s willing to help.”

Claude rattled off other assignments for the rest of them: Judith would remain here with her own troops and a few from the Knights of Seiros as a wall against invasion, Petra and Bernadetta would take Dorothea, Raphael, Linhardt, and a few troops with them as an envoy to Brigid, while the rest of the former students would head back to the monastery to hold down the fort and start making plans for the road to Enbarr, with leave to visit family in the Alliance if they wished.

Byleth spoke up for the first time, “What about me and Seteth?”

Seteth blinked, surprised to be included in her query. Would they be assigned together?

“Actually, Teach, I’d like you to come with me to Derdriu. There are a lot of devoted followers to the Church of Seiros among the Alliance lords, and it would make a big difference to have ‘the goddess’s chosen’ there to help convince them. And Seteth, if you wouldn’t mind doing some digging at the monastery for any leads on those monsters, that’d save us a lot of trouble later.”

Seteth agreed and he saw Byleth hesitate only a moment before nodding her assent. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that he would not be joining them.

Claude clapped once, rubbing his hands together, and hopped off the table. “Right then! Food and _sleep_.” A couple of the students cheered and followed him out, laughing. The rest of them were somewhat more somber, and Seteth had a feeling they had all lost someone today. The old Black Eagles students in particular were shaken after hearing that Ferdinand had opposed them. He had seen red rims around Bernadetta’s eyes before the meeting.

As their chatter carried down the hallway, Byleth just sat there, not moving from her seat, staring off into space.

“Byleth?”

A soft sigh escaped her. “Seteth. I am hardly a devout believer in the church’s doctrines. Do you really think I can convince these lords using their faith as a weapon?”

Before he could open his mouth, her hands flew up in defense. “I know, I know. It’s heresy for me to even say I’m not observant, but it’s just…hard to reconcile the snappy, irritable child in my head with the way Sothis is described in the church. I can’t preach what I know isn’t quite true.”

Seteth sat down beside her. “I was not going to scold you. Your reasoning is sound.”

Byleth huffed a laugh in one breath. “I practically give you permission to lecture me, and you don’t? You’re full of surprises.”

“You wound me. I do not lecture because I enjoy it.”

“You don’t? That’s a shame. You have such a talent, it would be wasteful not to use it.”

He raised his eyebrows, challenging her. “Then perhaps I should go in your stead and _lecture_ these lords into submission.”

A real laugh burst from Byleth’s lips. “Promise? That’s the best offer I’ve had all day. I would pay to watch that.”

Seteth couldn’t help but laugh alongside her. It felt surprisingly…relieving after the day they’d had. “To your question, I think I’d prefer to take this conversation elsewhere, lest any followers of the goddess hear the assistant to the archbishop voicing his true opinions of the faith.”

Byleth leaned away from him, gaping. “You have my attention.”

He stood, gesturing towards the hallway. “Let us move this to my quarters, then. I have also brought a few things that may be of use to you at the roundtable conference.”

As they left, Seteth continued, “I must tell you that I cannot divulge everything here, as we have discussed before about other matters.” He gave her a meaningful look, which she, mercifully, nodded at in understanding. “However, what I can tell you is my own personal experience.”

“Have you always been a follower then? Your family?”

Guess he’d walked right into that one. “In a manner of speaking, yes. My entire family learned about the goddess and her teachings and would no doubt be followers of the church if they were still among us.”

“…I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

Seteth shook his head. “They’ve been gone for many years. Do not trouble yourself. I am blessed to still have Flayn.”

Byleth went silent for several minutes before asking, “Do you think of them often?”

Did he? He thought of his wife whenever he saw the shape of Flayn’s eyes or the dimple in her cheek, which was to say, daily. He supposed he also thought of Indech and Macuil nearly every day, given that they were his and Flayn’s fellow Saints and came up in the church’s scriptures frequently. He certainly missed Indech’s company and counsel. He could not remember his parents, who had died when he was very young, but Sothis had always felt like the mother of them all, whether she had given her blood to them directly or not. Seiros was her last true child, but they were all children of the goddess.

“Other than my wife, I remember my brothers more than any of them, I suppose. We got along well and fought alongside each other. I am afraid we have become quite estranged since.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Quite. It has been many years since I’ve seen them, but I believe they’d both be much too stubborn to die.”

A quiet chuckle escaped her right as they stopped before the door to the temporary quarters he would share with Flayn.

He turned the handle, opening the door, and gestured inside. “After you.”

Once inside, he watched Byleth survey the small room: a wyvern saddle bag, a cabinet with a basin for washing, a screen for changing clothes, a tiny desk with a stool, and…

She frowned at him. “There’s only one bed.”

“Yes.”

“But where will you and Flayn be sleeping?”

“Flayn will take the bed. I will sleep on the floor.”

Byleth huffed. “That’s ridiculous. You need sound sleep as much as the rest of us.”

Seteth shook his head, exasperated. “Then what do you suggest? I am not leaving her alone on the edge of enemy territory.”

She considered for a moment before asking, “My room is the same layout, yes? Flayn can stay with me and we’ll sleep together, if you trust me to protect her. We’d be right next door.”

He balked at this. “I could not ask such a thing of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m convincing you to be as kind to yourself as you are to Flayn.”

He stared into her eyes and saw the challenge there, but he did not miss the sentiment. She was looking out for him. The first person since Flayn to do so. And that was…

He bowed his head. “Then I will humbly accept your proposal.”

She smiled in her victory and then leaned against the desk. “What is this about you having controversial opinions on the church?”

Seteth took the few steps towards the bed to sit down, steepling his hands as he rested his arms on his knees. “First, understand that Flayn and I owe Rhea a great debt and what I do, I do to support her. What is more, she is like family to us and, as I have just told you, we have precious few loved ones left.”

Byleth tilted her head, searching. “But…?”

“But…” he repeated, “…I, too, have had a…similar experience with the goddess as you have. And you are right. Perhaps the depiction of her in the Church of Seiros has been somewhat glorified. But, consider for a moment that the liturgy that I have been teaching you as…guidelines for those who need comfort from their pain. They were not created to be taken literally.”

“So, you’re suggesting that I don’t need to reference the hymns or anything? That I can, well, fake it?”

“In a sense. Think for a moment on your relationship with her. Did she not have admirable qualities?”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed slightly as she stared off into space, remembering. “For all her chiding, she offered me advice freely. She would give me guidance when I didn’t know how to help my students. And when my dad died…” He did not miss the flash of pain across her face, and remembered that it had been less than a year ago for her. “…Sothis was there for me. She reminded me about the happy memories I have of my childhood and time I spent with him. She gave me permission to cry when I hated myself for it. She was…motherly.”

A hoarse laugh burst from her lips. “Well, as motherly as a goddess who appeared no older than ten years old can be.”

It was strange to hear her talk about the goddess so familiarly. It had been centuries since he’d heard anyone call her anything than “miraculous” or “omnipotent” or some other exalted term. The irony was that Byleth seemed to understand, albeit unknowing, the rock on which the tenets of the Church of Seiros stood more than anyone besides him and his remaining family, and yet she had only months of experience with the religion at all.

“You must realize that you understand the heart of the faith already. Let that be your guide when you invoke the goddess at the conference in Derdriu.”

Byleth stood up straight, her face pinched in confusion. “So, what, talk about her as though she’s my mother?”

Seteth nearly choked on a laugh. “If you did, you would represent Lady Rhea so well it would be as though she were there herself.” He coughed, trying to suppress another laugh. “But yes, in essence, adapt the faith to your needs. If imagining or, in your case, remembering the goddess as benevolent, motherly, and, yes, somewhat prone to giving wanted or un-wanted advice, will help you find courage, then you are as much a follower of the Church as Count Gloucestor or Marianne von Edmund.”

He watched Byleth sit on the stool, gazing, unfocused, at the stone floor. After a moment, she said, “I think I can do that. If I imagine her insulting me when I hesitate, it might push me to do what I must,” she finished with a crooked smile.

He shook his head, pulling the heavy saddle bag onto the bed beside him and searching its contents. “You will have to share those insults with me sometime. I must admit that I’m curious.”

“‘Troublesome’ was among her favorites, though she did say I was less than a child once, which was quite rich.” She leaned forward, trying to see what he was pulling out of the bag. “You said that was something to help in Derdriu? What is it?”

“Something of Lady Rhea’s that I had altered to suit you.” He pulled out a bundle wrapped in protective paper and began peeling away at the layers to reveal a pair of Rhea’s lily hair accessories and one of her dresses, but he had re-designed it to be more like her war-time garb as Seiros. He would not have Byleth caught off guard in an unexpected fight in Rhea’s normal, restrictive regalia.

He passed the bundle to Byleth who set it on her lap and lifted the dress, inspecting it with an unreadable expression. After a few minutes of silence, she murmured, “Author, advisor, warrior, fashion designer…what other talents are you hiding from me, Seteth?”

He stumbled over half-formed words before she stood and moved behind the folding wooden screen, only a hint of green peeping over the top indicating she was there.

Seteth rose on his feet in a heartbeat, the profuse heat in his face no doubt making him appear like a blushing teenager. “What are you doing?!”

Byleth poked her head around the side of the screen. “Sit down, please. I’m trying it on. That’s what a screen is for.” And she disappeared again, the rustle of cloth the only sound in the room.

In a daze, he sat back down and buried his face in his hands. Though a distant part of him was pleased that she trusted him enough to disrobe in his presence, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He was too old not to recognize that he was becoming more infatuated with her by the day. A trusted friend and ally yes, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realized that he did not want to be apart. His blood ran cold at the thought of losing her. Her smile was a balm amidst the pain caused by this war, her steady analysis of every new situation a relief, and the thought that her lifespan could rival his…he had not thought it ever possible that he might allow himself to have interest in another person this way again, and goddess above, she was unwittingly testing his every hesitation.

“This is really quite smart. I can wear this over my usual shorts and boots without anyone noticing the difference,” she commented from behind the screen.

His eyes dutifully averted, he acquiesced, “That was the intention. I thought it would be best to avoid anything unnecessary.”

“Thank you for foregoing the high collar. My peripheral vision was completely blocked by the regalia Rhea offered me before.”

“Yes, well…” he paused. “Lady Rhea’s everyday outfits are inspired by what Saint Seiros is said to have worn in battle. I simply combined the two, although…”

Seteth trailed off as Byleth appeared again. The dress draped around her, falling to mid-shin where her black boots peaked out. Even though he not intended it, the folds of the cloth loosely framed her form, clearly showing the shape of her. The tiara balanced between the lilies in her mint hair looked so natural. She was stunning.

“Seteth?”

He snapped his mouth shut, just realizing that he had been gaping. He coughed, looking away. “You certainly look the part of the archbishop.”

“You think so?” She moved her right leg so that the slit in the side of the skirt parted to reveal her thigh, where her knife was strapped over her leggings. “I appreciate that you thought to include this. I may not be able to bring the Sword of the Creator with me everywhere I go.”

He glanced at the knife and tried not to let his eyes roam down the full length of her leg. Somehow, it was more provocative being partially hidden underneath the skirt than her usual shorts that barely covered anything.

Before he could speak, the door opened, and he just barely kept down a yelp of surprise. Flayn stepped into the room, looking utterly exhausted, before she saw Byleth. Immediately, her hands flew to her face and she gasped, “Professor, how remarkably regal you look! So beautiful! Wherever did you acquire such a wonderful dress? You are the very image of Saint Seiros!”

“Your brother had it prepared for me. Do you think the Alliance lords will be convinced?”

“Oh, certainly!” She clapped her hands, and for a moment Seteth believed Flayn had not noticed how spell-bound he was, until she gave him such a downright _smug_ smile that he wished he could sink into the floor. He was _not_ ready for that conversation.

Desperately trying to redirect the conversation, he gestured to Byleth. “Flayn, the professor has graciously offered to have you stay with her tonight to ensure we all sleep in a bed. Is this agreeable to you?”

“Oh yes! I shall move my belongings right away!” With that, she dashed off, leaving the door open.

Byleth frowned. “She’s had a hard day.”

“Yes,” he agreed, remembering that afternoon. “She took it upon herself to face Ferdinand von Aegir today.”

“I remember they were friends,” Byleth muttered. “She wasn’t forced to kill him, was she?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Once I arrived, he turned his aggression on me and…I am the one who took his life.”

“I see…”

The air in the room stilled as they were reminded of the horrific situation they were in and why they were here in the first place.

“Well…” Byleth started. “I should let you get some rest.” She moved to collect the few articles of clothing that did not accompany the regalia she wore.

Seteth pulled one more thing from the bag and stood, taking the few steps to stand in front of her. “Wait. I have one more thing to give you.”

Byleth gave him a quizzical look as he handed her a book bound with leather, a metal buckle keeping it closed. She undid the clasp and opened it, flipping through a few pages. She looked up at him. “It’s empty. Is this…”

“You may use it for whatever you wish.” He clarified. “You have expressed regret that you no longer have the goddess to listen to your concerns, so, while this is a poor substitute, I thought this might help you parse your thoughts.”

“A diary.”

“If you wish. I must admit that it crossed my mind that you might be interested in writing a story of your own.” He smiled. “I’m sure Flayn would be enamored with anything you chose to write.”

He felt his heart squeeze in his chest as Byleth hugged the book to her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I think…this will help me quite a lot while I’m away from the monastery.”

“It was my pleasure. And…” he hesitated. “Perhaps, when you return, you would join me on a short fishing trip? Somewhere remote, where there will be no one to listen to your stories from Derdriu or…anything else you might wish to discuss.”

He knew that she would need to know what Ferdinand hinted at, and soon. If the Empire knew what he was, let alone Flayn and Rhea, then Byleth must be told the truth. Urgently. Especially because she was nearly as much a child of the goddess and they were.

“Yes.” Her eyes crinkled with the smile she beamed up at him. “I would like that.”

With that, she moved to the door and opened it, looking back at him. “Thank you, Seteth. I’m going to change into my regular clothes in my room. Will you join me to get some food when I’m finished?”

He nodded, warm at the invitation. “Nothing would please me more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The war has truly begun now! And I think a certain two people might get desperate to avoid losing their other half...  
> On to Derdriu next!


	7. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Of course she’d defend him. It wasn’t a big deal. He was her friend. True, what Dorothea had suggested had caused her thoughts to run in an unending loop, his face floating to the front of her mind every time her mind wandered, but that was a question for another day. Seteth had secrets, yes, but from the little he’d revealed, it seemed like it was more about protecting Flayn than anything. She could never begrudge him that. If anything, it made her want to trust him more."

Byleth left at daybreak for Derdiu with Claude. In order to arrive before sundown, and still have time for a few breaks, they had to leave painfully early. Flayn hadn’t even been awake when she got up, carefully nestled the diary in between the folds of the archbishop regalia wrapped in its protective paper, secured both in her pack, and quietly clicked the door closed on her way out. Seteth hadn’t been in the kitchens when they grabbed food for the journey, so she could only assume he was still sleeping (and as she thought it, she smiled to herself wondering what he looked like asleep). She wished she could have seen him before leaving.

Even though they had just entered the Great Tree Moon, it was still decidedly cold, and she shivered as Hinda flew higher, the wind biting her cheeks. The sun was almost at its peak, when they would stop for a break.

Claude had talked her ear off on the way to the bridge’s small aerie. It would take a week for the couriers to reach the noble families and for the lords and ladies to make their way to the capital. If all went well, she and Claude would head back to the monastery the next day. A week to prepare herself to act like a holy woman and _hopefully_ not make a fool of herself and alienate their few potential allies.

She was trying, _really_ , to take what Seteth had told her to heart. She could very well be an earnest follower of the church if she took comfort from Sothis, whether she was the goddess portrayed to everybody else or the child who had been at her side from birth.

Something about how he’d described the concept was nagging at her. He’d told her that he had a similar experience with the goddess as her, which was strange. Had Sothis spoken to him at some point before her soul was bound to hers? That could make some sense, what with his green hair and pointed ears. So, was it something unique to the two of them and Flayn? What about Rhea?

A sharp whistle on her left interrupted her thoughts and she looked over at Claude to see him signaling for a descent. He’d found a spot to take their noon break.

They landed a few minutes later by a stream barricaded by mountains—the northern edges of the Oghma Mountains no doubt. There were plenty of trees around to hide them from prying eyes, though she hadn’t seen any villages nearby when they were flying over.

Claude hopped off his wyvern, rubbing his lower back. “My ass is killing me from riding day in and day out. I’m not going to be able to sit for the whole week.”

Byleth chuckled to herself and stroked Hinda’s neck before leading her to the stream. “That might be a problem, _my lord Duke Riegan_. I doubt leading a conference from your bed would go over well with the Alliance lords.”

“Maybe I’ll just change it to a pajama party. I know Holst would be into it.” He patted his wyvern’s side. “Go hunt for a bit, I’ll whistle when it’s time to go.”

Byleth held her hands against her hair as the gust from the wyvern’s wings taking off threatened to reveal her ears. Once it was gone, she pulled the wrapped cloth with their meager lunch out of her saddle bag and sat by the edge of the water.

Claude plopped down beside her, lying on his stomach, and took the cheese, bread, and apple she passed to him. “So, we have a whole week to kill in Derdriu. Anything you wanted to see?”

Byleth hummed thoughtfully as she used her knife to cut her apple. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been. But we’ll need to spend most of that time planning for our next assault on the Empire and how to present it at the conference.”

“Too true, but everyone needs a break. Tell you what, I’ll take you to my favorite spot in the city. I guarantee you won’t find it on any tour.”

“What is it?”

Claude grinned. “Oh no, it’ll be a surprise. You’ll get the full shock value.”

“Coming from you, surprises are rarely good,” Byleth muttered under her breath.

“Speaking of surprises…” Claude started around a mouthful of apple, “…when are we going to talk about those ears?”

Her knife slipped, slicing a shallow cut on the pad of her thumb. She cursed, pressing the finger against her mouth. “Where did that come from?” she ground out.

He grimaced. “Sorry ‘bout that. But you weren’t exactly hiding them that one time we sparred right after you came back. And then overnight, you’ve been going to ridiculous lengths to keep them covered. Where did you even get those hair clips?”

“For your information, they were a gift from Hilda. They weren’t looted from my old room while I was missing.”

“Aah, I thought I detected her fine touch.” Claude took another bite of his apple and didn’t speak for a few minutes. “Y’know, Byleth…” he said, softer this time, “…if it’s that important, I’m not going to tell anyone. I care about you more than that.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I know. I guess there’s no use hiding them from you since you already know they’ve changed.” She set down the apple and her knife to slide out the barrettes and hooked her hair behind her ears.

Claude inched closer on his elbows, staring. He was silent for a moment before just breathing, “Huh.”

Self-conscious, Byleth ripped off a chunk of bread and stuffed it in her mouth, trying to forget Claude’s scrutiny.

“So uh, what’s up with that, exactly? Did that happen when your hair changed?”

She shrugged. “Just part of the goddess’ blessing, as it were.”

Claude rested his elbow on the ground, a fist against his cheek, “Not gonna lie, that’s a little freaky.” He paused. “I’m going out on a limb here and guessing _Seteth_ is the one who made you hide them.”

Byleth didn’t respond.

“Right. You know he’s probably just using you to hide church secrets, right? I may not be on Edelgard’s side, but she’s not wrong about the church needing reform.”

Byleth set her food down and gave Claude a hard look. “He didn’t _force_ me to do anything. I won’t argue that there are problematic practices in the church, but Seteth is not an enemy here. He is our ally.”

“Yeah, conditionally. We have a common goal.” Claude rolled his eyes.

“You’re making an awful lot of bold assumptions without knowing him beyond the face he projects to everyone.”

Claude grinned. “I suppose you’ll tell me he’s actually a big softie who reads fairy tales and goes to pieces when he sees a baby?”

 _‘He’s actually not too far off,’_ Byleth thought wryly, stifling a smile. “All I’m saying is you don’t know him like I do. He’s the most supportive, considerate, a-and caring person I’ve ever met.” Realizing she was running the risk of rambling and revealing too much, she slid the clips back into her hair, giving herself a moment to compose herself. “And besides, you’ve got plenty of your own secrets. Let other people keep theirs.”

Claude’s eyebrows shot straight for his hairline, eyes sparkling with what she suspected was mirth. “You’ve got me there, but I never would have expected you of all people to go to the mat for him.”

She felt her cheeks start to burn. “What of it?”

Of course she’d defend him. It wasn’t a big deal. He was her friend. True, what Dorothea had suggested had caused her thoughts to run in an unending loop, his face floating to the front of her mind every time her mind wandered, but that was a question for another day. Seteth had secrets, yes, but from the little he’d revealed, it seemed like it was more about protecting Flayn than anything. She could never begrudge him that. If anything, it made her want to trust him _more_.

“Nothing of it, Teach, I’ve just never seen you that… _mad_ when someone’s life wasn’t in danger. Now I’m getting curious about what _your_ secret is.”

She looked away, adamantly ignoring how hot she was. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

* * *

They made good time, touching down at the Riegan mansion before the sun turned the sky orange. She was introduced to Claude’s retainer, Nardel, and found that not only was he a capable commander after his maneuvering against Count Gloucester, but he was also amicable and warm with a booming laugh that matched his imposing presence. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be a pleasure to work with.

Claude gave her a tour around the property after dinner and the views across the bay stole her breath away. The mansion had considerable defenses—sky-high guard towers equipped with ballistae, tall sand-colored walls patrolled by soldiers, onagers spaced around the grounds—but the architect must have had an artist’s heart, ensuring rooms facing the water had windows reaching the ceiling with balconies to take advantage of the natural beauty the scenery provided.

She was lounging on the chaise lounge by the window in one of the many guest rooms looking out across the water now, a heavy fur blanket across her lap. The door out to the balcony was propped open, allowing in a breeze that ruffled her hair and long sleeping tunic. She idly flipped the corners of the pages in the diary Seteth had given her, a quill, rattling lightly from the wind, in the ink pot on the short table beside her.

The small beach along the edge of the bay reminded her faintly of the Rhodos Coast—the only beach she’d ever been to. If Seteth were here, she’d suggest going down to walk along the water’s edge. He had seemed so wistful and sad on that mission that she’d do anything to give him reason to smile at the beach instead of wilt from sorrowful memories.

 _‘I wish he could be here. He needs a break, too.’_ She could just picture him now, sitting at his desk poring over battle plans or economics reports, trying to be everywhere at once, and forgetting to eat. She hoped Flayn was keeping him from overextending himself.

Of course, no doubt he’d wave any concern away, insisting that _someone_ must do it and why _not_ him if he could simply get it done instead of wasting time delegating? If she were there, she’d have to talk him out of it…

A thought struck her, and she turned the diary’s cover to the first page, dipped her quill into the ink, and took pen to paper.

_Seteth,_

_We arrived in Derdriu safely this afternoon. Claude and his household have been more than accommodating and the view of the bay is breathtaking. I hope you’re not working yourself to the bone at the monastery. If you are, then I suppose I shall have no choice but leave at first light and drag you away from your desk and directly to that fishing trip you suggested._

She smiled to herself at the image that conjured, his hair tousled and circlet askew. Flayn would help her spirit him away, no doubt.

_It is strange to be away from you and Flayn after living in the clergy house with you for the past few months. I keep expecting to hear Flayn’s steps on the stairs going to the kitchen for a midnight snack, or the front door opening and closing when you come home for the night. Am I allowed to call it “home”? It seems overly familiar to consider it so, since we’re only taking advantage of the facilities provided by the church during the war, but it feels right. I never had a real home growing up, since my father’s mercenary company was always on the move, putting our pillow down wherever was convenient at the time. My room in the student dormitories was the first place I stayed for a long period of time, but it always felt “temporary”—maybe because dormitories are meant to be so. And even though the clergy house is the first “house” I’ve stayed in, I can’t help but feel that it wouldn’t bring me such a sense of peace if the two of you weren’t there._

_I’m still learning about my emotions, but I do know that I’m comfortable and happy when you’re around, Seteth. “Safe,” I suppose, although it’s strange to say that, since I can handle myself in a fight. Maybe it’s a different sort of safety? I’m not quite sure, but I can recognize the sense of security your company gives me. By the same token, as “safe” as I know I am here in Derdriu, I miss that security. I wish you were here._

Byleth wrote about anything and everything. All of the things she’d tell him if he were there beside her. Her time with the mercenaries as a child, what she missed about teaching, worries about the war, errant gossip she’d heard from her old students… She wrote until she fell asleep, leaning against the pillows on the chaise, the diary tucked against her chest. That was how the servants found her every morning that week when they came in to help her get ready for the day, despite their repeated fretting that she would catch cold and would be much better off sleeping in the king-sized bed dominating the room. But she found that she preferred looking out the window, taking in the sights that she couldn’t get from the monastery.

On the day of the conference, it was Claude who burst into her room just after daybreak.

“Up and at ‘em, Teach! We’ve got a date this morning.”

Byleth cracked an eye open at him as he rested his arms on the high back of the chair. “I’m not an expert, but I thought you need to _ask_ to take someone on a date, not demand.”

“True, but this is a special occasion. And I promise I don’t have any scandalous intentions towards you.” He winked.

Byleth sat up, raising her arms in a stretch. “The servants might think otherwise. You _are_ in a woman’s room before she’s properly dressed. Go wait in the entrance hall, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

By the time she’d splashed water on her face, pinned Hilda’s clips in her hair just so, pulled on her multiple layers, and climbed down the multiple flights of stairs, the sun had fully risen over the horizon and Claude was in deep conversation with Nardel.

In between the planning sessions and Leicester Alliance etiquette lessons (apparently faux pas could be just as deadly to an alliance as poor tactical proposals), Byleth had taken time to spar with him and pick his brain on battle strategies. Even if Claude hadn’t said it outright, Nardel was quite clearly not from Fódlan. Given that his complexion and hair color reminded her distinctly of Cyril, she had a sneaking suspicion he was from Almyra. Fódlan and Almyra had been at odds for nearly their entire history, but his tactics were a sure boon to their own and he seemed to have no particular ill will towards Fódlan at large. Only House Goneril, and General Holst in particular, had faced Almyran troops with any regularity, so any insights and suggestions from Nardel would no doubt take Empire troops completely by surprise. His complete disregard for stiff, Fódlanian convention was a refreshing change of pace and she appreciated his head-on approach to any situation.

“She rises!” He boomed as she approached. “Are you ready to spend your day coddling some grown-ass men?”

Byleth chuckled. She had already been told which lords would balk at any suggestions other than their own for the sake of simple pride. “If I must be. At least I know your ass won’t be one of them.”

Nardel’s responding laugh echoed around the foyer and he clapped her on the shoulder before turning back to Claude, “Alright, kiddo, don’t forget my order!”

Claude saluted him, turning towards the door. “You got it, five zlebiye to go.”

“And some muhammara for later!” He called after them.

“What is ‘zle-bee-yea’? And that other thing he mentioned?” Byleth asked as they descended the front stairs.

“ _Zlebiye_ ,” Claude repeated and winked. “It’s breakfast. You’ll see when we get there.”

* * *

It turned out that Claude’s favorite place in the city was a small neighborhood on the edge of the city called “Little Almyra.” They rode there on the back of Claude’s childhood wyvern, Amira—a pure white, albino wyvern with the temperament of a princess. Claude explained to Byleth that he had raised her from the time she hatched from her egg, which was a tradition in his family, but students weren’t allowed to bring their own mounts to the Officer’s Academy. She had been injured in a battle before Claude had found Byleth wandering the monastery after her disappearance, so the wyvern had been recuperating up until now. Retrieving her had been part of his reason for coming to Derdriu.

“Claude…have there been Almyran immigrants living in Fódlan this whole time?” Byleth asked as they walked from where they had left Amira to walk towards the bustling market.

“Of course, Teach. It’s not widely talked about, since it’s a source of shame for a lot of Fódlanians.” He coughed, which suspiciously sounded like ‘racists’. “I mean, look at Cyril. Look at Dedue. Immigrants have always been here, whether it’s officially acknowledged or not.”

Byleth looked around as they entered the market. Compared to the one at the monastery and others she had seen on her travels, this one was downright…exuberant. Children were running back and forth between the crowded stalls, deftly avoiding the feet of the dozens of people milling about. While most Fódlanians preferred subdued, earthy tones in their clothes, the fabrics for sale and the scarves around the people’s heads and waists were bold and striking, with a particular emphasis on gold and warm colors. There were shopkeepers of every type—weapons, spices, books, clothes, and _food_. So much food!

She sniffed appreciatively passing by one particular stall and Claude grinned. “You’ve got great taste. This is stop number one.”

He leaned towards the woman seated behind the counter, a sizzling pan of oil giving off a welcome heat. “Hey there, Sada.”

The woman looked up, her round cheeks dimpling prettily as she beamed at him. “Prince Khalid! What a surprise!”

“Glad to see you! My friend here was drawn in by your delectable goods,” he explained, tugging Byleth’s arm lightly to bring her closer.

Byleth bowed, a fist against her heart respectfully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Any friend of Prince Khalid’s is a friend of ours,” Sada trilled, lifting balls of dough cooking out of the oil and into a plate of syrup waiting nearby. She moved the ends of the teal blue scarf wrapped over her hair to keep it out of the sticky sugar. “Would you like some awameh?”

“We’ll take two servings,” Claude said, passing her a few silver pieces. “Bless you for selling dessert at this sinfully early hour.”

Sada laughed and handed him two folded paper trays with a few of the dough balls in each. “Dessert is a state of mind, and it’s one I’m happy to be in all day long.”

“And thank the goddess for that!” Claude bowed. He looked at Byleth and jerked his head towards a low stone wall next to the stall. “I’m famished, let’s get started on the first course.”

“First course?” Byleth repeated, nodding a thanks at Sada as Claude passed her one of the trays.

“It’s my turn to teach you for once. You’re about to get a five-course lesson in Almyran cuisine.”

Questions swimming in her head, Byleth sat down next to Claude. She picked up one of the dough balls and asked, “Awameh?”

“Sweet, sugary decadence.” Claude blew a chef’s kiss into the air with a wistful expression. “This is the only place I can get it, unfortunately for Lysithea. She’d kill for this.”

Byleth bit down and was pleasantly surprised by the crunchy shell and its soft, fluffy inside. “You weren’t kidding about this being a dessert.”

Claude hummed appreciatively as he popped one of his into his mouth, his face peaceful and unconcerned in a way that Byleth hadn’t seen since before Edelgard had turned on them.

“Claude, what Sada called you…”

“Yeah. That’s my real name. ‘Claude’ was just the Fódlanian equivalent.” He licked the crumbs and sugar off his fingers and leaned back, watching the crowd go by.

“So you’re really from Almyra?”

“Well, you’ve probably heard about my mom. She eloped and rescinded her claim to my grandfather’s title. It isn’t well known, but she married an Almyran, my dad. I grew up there but I’ve always known that I’m half here and half there. Trust me, the kids who picked on me back home never let me forget it.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “And the ‘prince’ part…?”

Claude gave her a sidelong look, tapping a finger against his lips, before challenging, “A secret for a secret? Just between us.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Relax, I’m not going to ask anything else about your miraculous transformation.” Claude raised his hands defensively. He held out a hand in question. “You in?”

Byleth glared at the offending appendage before reaching out and grasping his hand as if it pained her. “Fine. But you first.”

“Excellent! Well, it’s exactly as it sounds. My old man isn’t just any Almyran.”

“The king?” Her eyebrows disappearing into her bangs.

“Yup. How do you think my mom managed to meet him? It was a diplomatic mission between skirmishes. And before you ask, word spread fast here in Little Almyra once I came to Fódlan. There were a few immigrants who moved to Derdriu from the Almyran capital and they were familiar with me as Khalid so…yeah, they weren’t tricked. I’m the spitting image of my dad. Well, other than his extremely impressive beard, but I’m working on it.”

Byleth frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous for you though? The Alliance is hardly friendly with Almyra.”

He shrugged. “The people here aren’t snitches. And who would believe them? For the same reason that it could be, uh, problematic for me if I flaunted my heritage, their word isn’t worth much with the average Fódlanian.” He paused. “But I’m going to change that.”

“Your dream?” Byleth remembered, traces of a conversation a long time ago coming to mind.

“Right. Not just Almyra though. I want to see the people from every country get along. We already have a huge headway with Petra. She was brought to the Empire as a hostage, but everyone who’s gotten to know her has been touched by Brigid. And Shamir too. She doesn’t feel much of anything for Dagda, but the two them, Cyril, and Dedue are living proof that we can all get along and support each other when societal standards are torn down. We need to change those standards if we’re going to get anywhere.”

Byleth absorbed that for a moment before pointing out, “And you don’t plan to make that happen by leading a united Fódlan, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, now…” His lips quirked. “…that’s a secret I haven’t even fully thought out yet.”

Byleth laughed. “I guess you can only be so far ahead, even with that mind of yours.”

“Alright Byleth, your turn.” Claude nudged her with an elbow, effectively cutting off her laughter. He stuck another ball in his mouth and crossed his arms, leaning towards her. “So, a little bird told me that you might need some advice.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Advice about what?”

“Your secret. Do I hear correctly that you have your eye on a certain member of the clergy?”

Byleth froze, an image of Dorothea devilishly grinning at her floating to the front of her mind. “I…I don’t know.” She stuttered.

Claude tilted his head, curious. “How so?”

Byleth turned away from him, focusing her attention on the single remaining dumpling in her tray. “I don’t…I don’t know what this feeling is,” she admitted helplessly.

Claude stuffed his last dumpling into his cheek and stood, holding out an elbow. “Let’s take a walk.”

As Claude led her down the crowded street, Byleth’s thoughts were churning. Her incident during the drinking game with her students had been hanging over her head. Did she have a crush? What was a crush? Was it different from love? How could she tell? How could she be sure of the difference between loving her father and loving…well…

They stopped on a small, rickety pier on the edge of the bay. The social standing of the Almyran immigrants made it difficult to maintain their little home away from home, and it was a far cry from the carefully manicured beach on the Riegan property, but this was much more familiar. She sat on the edge, her feet inches from the water.

Claude slipped down next to her, leaning back on his hands. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but it sounds like you could use some help. I get that it might be weird getting relationship advice from an old student though.”

She breathed a laugh, swinging her legs rhythmically. “Something tells me you were already much more educated in relationships than me five years ago.”

“Believe it or not, Teach, I was _much_ more interested in all the secrets to be solved than making out with my peers.” He leaned closer to whisper. “I _cannot_ say the same for Felix though. The number of times I’ve caught Annette sneaking into his room should be _criminal_.”

Byleth squinted. “That surprises me a little.”

“What, Felix and Annette? I know, but I guess Annette has a thing for the tall, dark, and mysteriously prickly.”

“I meant you. You used to be such a flirt.” She insisted, pushing his shoulder playfully.

“Yup, it was mostly just a cover for my snooping around where people thought I shouldn’t.”

“Mostly? Who’s the lucky one?” Byleth teased, pushing harder.

“Ohh, no, no. We’re here to talk about _your_ love life, not mine.” Claude jabbed, crossing his arms.

Byleth sighed. “It’s not that easy, Claude. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Let’s start easy then. You told me that I don’t know him like you do. Tell me what he looks like through your eyes.”

So she did. For the better part of an hour, Claude patiently sat next to Byleth as she told him about who Seteth was to her. He had been cold to her at first, distrustful. He had only once grudgingly admitted that she was doing an acceptable job despite her lack of experience in education, and that was after Rhea had pointedly asked him in front of her. She hadn’t cared, being too focused on her students at the time to attempt to impress someone who didn’t mean anything to her.

Everything had changed once Flayn was kidnapped. As worried as they had all been for the sweet, ethereal girl who charmed everyone she met, when Seteth had burst into Byleth’s meeting with Rhea, it had been the first time she’d seen any expression on his face other than impatience or displeasure. Hearing him so distraught, his voice cracking from panic, had struck a new chord in her. She had watched him unravel more and more every day and started to…not pity him, exactly, but see him as someone who could use a friend. Seeing him so distraught tugged at an emotion she didn’t recognize and she found herself stopping by his office to check on him, give him updates on the search, and occasionally bring gifts from the market. It was always worth it when a few of the worry lines on his face would disappear for even a moment when she would deliver them. She hadn’t exactly been _searching_ for things she thought he would like, but she did browse the wares more than usual.

After that, Seteth stopped looking at her like she was a problem and she stopped looking at him like he was more trouble than he was worth. Her heart swelled when she would find him reading stories to the orphans at the monastery in between church services. As strict as he was, he always had a spare moment for the students and often went out of his way to approach those most in need of guidance. Byleth would sit down with Flayn and Seteth for meals on occasion and discovered that she loved the way his face would light up when she praised Flayn’s progress. The first time she heard him laugh, she thought she would like to hear it every single day.

But it wasn’t until her father was murdered that she truly began to rely on him. The days following his funeral were a blur to her, but she had flashes of memory where Flayn and Claude would bring her meals (which she often left untouched) and then Seteth, giving her a brief overview of what he had taught to her class that day. She had never even had to ask him to cover her class. She _wouldn’t_ have asked. And yet, he took care of it all the same—he took care of _her._

Her relief when he found her at the abandoned monastery mere months ago had nearly brought her to her knees. Ever since, he’d been at her side as an ally and friend every step of the way. When she was tired, he gave her a place to rest. When she was overwhelmed with responsibility, he shared the burden. And when she just needed a friend and a smile, he always made time for tea.

“And I…I don’t want that to end. I don’t want to lose him. I want to see Fódlan at peace, and I want him to be there to help restore it. I want to do it _together_.” She loosed a shaky breath and swallowed, trying to wet her parched throat after talking for so long. “So…so that’s what I see when I look at him.”

Claude stared at her before blowing a long whistle. “Damn, Teach, for someone who’s so new to strong emotions, you’re knocking ‘love’ right out of the park.”

“You…think I do? Love him I mean?”

He screwed his lips to the side, thinking. “Love is different for everyone but based on my experience and what others have told me, it comes down to a few key qualities: security, commitment, and respect. Well, and attraction, for most people. And based on what you just told me I’d give you an ‘A’ in every single category.”

“…Well, I think I can admit that he’s quite handsome.” She murmured under her breath, and blushed beat red when Claude grinned at her.

She turned back to the water, considering his words. “What am I supposed to do? We’re in the middle of a war, Claude. This isn’t the time for _courting_ , as though I would even know how to do that.”

“On the contrary, Byleth…” Claude studied her with more seriousness than he’d shown all day. “…I think now _is_ the time. We don’t know if we’ll win this war. Sure, we’re doing everything we can to try, but there are no guarantees. How would you feel if you never said anything and he was killed? Or if you died without him knowing?”

A sharp stab of pain erupted in her chest and Byleth’s breath shuddered as she admitted, “It wouldn’t matter if I said anything. If he died, I don’t know what I would do. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he lives.” She resolved, her fingers curling against the wood of the dock beneath her.

“…I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I think you should tell him.” Claude said quietly, cocking his head to look her in the eye. “All I can say is if I was lucky enough to be loved by someone as incredible as you, I’d want to know so I could treat them like the goddess they are.”

A burning in her eyes warned of tears and Byleth ran a finger along to edge of her eye to prevent them from falling. “Thank you, Claude. I…I don’t know what to say.”

Claude reached an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her into a side hug. They sat there in companionable silence until the dew had evaporated in the mid-morning sun. Eventually, Byleth inhaled deeply, having made her decision. “Claude, if I wanted to bring back a…souvenir for him, where should I go?”

Claude groaned as he stood up, stretching his legs as he went, but he smiled. “Well, I’ve got just the Almyran craftsman for you.”

He held out a hand, winking. “Don’t forget we have four more courses to get through too.”

Byleth laughed, and accepted his offered hand, grateful to find such a friend in her most incorrigible student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes today!
> 
> First of all, I'm planning on having the Almyrans and Nardel/Nader come back. There's way too much untapped potential there to leave it alone and I wish there was more canon information about them. I've based their culture on the region around Syria, given that's where Almyra's name comes from. Please do call me out if I write anything off-key that could be written in a more respectful way. My beta reader is fluent in Levantine Arabic, so hopefully she or I catch any poor wordings!
> 
> Second, I'm going to take this chance to tell you the inspirations for the names I chose for the wyverns and Byleth's pegasus (Byleth is a dark flier by the way):  
> Hinda: Hebrew for "deer"  
> Anan: Hebrew for "cloud"  
> Amira: Arabic for "princess"  
> (Hinda and Amira are females, Anan is male)
> 
> I loved exploring our dear Prince Khalid as Byleth's devoted wingman. I feel like he's the only student who would call her by her first name without a problem, but still use "Teach" as a nickname. I like to think they're around the "A" support at this point. 
> 
> Time to see who plays Seteth's wingwoman next chapter! (Spoiler: it's Flayn, obviously)


End file.
